


Angels On My Shoulders

by Lasarina



Series: So Fell the Angels [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, FBI, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Season/Series 05, Sister-fic, Sisters, Tragedy, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 267,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasarina/pseuds/Lasarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is free, and now there's Hell for the Winchesters to pay. Not to mention needing to keep a low profile from the angels hunting them. Tabitha finds herself stuck between loyalty to her brothers, and trying to reconcile the feelings she may have for an angel—and the feelings he may have for her. Their feelings might not be so hard to sort out—if they weren't trying to stop the Apocalypse while also stopping the angels that are rooting for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going

 

"Tabitha? Tabitha! Are you okay?" Tabitha didn't respond, but when Dean finally grabbed her shoulders and shook her, she turned her eyes towards him, her gaze finally focusing a bit from her vacant stare.

Dean glanced frantically over his shoulder as he demanded from Chuck, "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

Chuck nervously wrung his hands as he answered, "I think she's still in shock. I tried to wash her up a bit, so I think she's okay physically, but she hasn't said anything."

With a little snort, Dean pulled one of her lax arms up to gesture at the gore splattered across her. "Does this look like she's okay?" he sarcastically demanded. With a trained eye, he began checking her over for any signs of injury. "Well what _did_ happen to her, Chuck? Where'd all this come from? And what did she look like before if this is her cleaned up a bit?" He lowered his voice to add, "I'm gonna kick that angel's ass. He said she'd be fine."

Chuck let out a nervous little laugh. "Oh, she's fine. Like I said, physically, nothing happened to her. That's Castiel."

"What's Castiel?" Sam demanded as he crouched near Dean to examine their dazed and silent sister.

"This is," Tabitha finally spoke, glancing down at her spattered front and looking at the dark flecks dotting her skin that she didn't even want to think too hard about.

"What?" Dean repeated as he stared down at her on the equally stained couch. A look of dawning horror and understanding filled his face as her older brother dropped the arm he still held aloft, discreetly wiping his fingers on his jeans. Sam stood up, less subtly moving away from her and the gore.

"Yeah, he's dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him. I'm sorry," Chuck told them.

Dean glanced around the gore-covered room. "You're sure? I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something."

Tabitha shook her head. "They killed him. Exploded him with a wave of power and…light," she quietly shrugged, staring at the stained carpet.

"Like a water balloon of chunky soup," Chuck grimly confirmed.

Tabitha fought to keep from gagging at the all too vivid imagery.

Sam sighed but then stared at Chuck for a moment and gestured from his own head to Chuck's. "You got a…"

Glancing up, Tabitha saw Chuck repeat the gesture to his own head. "Uh…right here?"

"Uh, the…" Sam muttered as he gestured to the other side of Chuck's head.

The blood and grime splattered across Chuck's face made him look like a war refugee, and as she looked around the littered room, she thought to herself that it did look more like a bomb had gone off than a battle between angels.

"Oh," Chuck was saying as he felt the other side of his head, pulling something out of his hair with a sick look on his face. "Oh, god," he muttered, holding something in front of his face. "Is that a molar?" His voice broke as he held it out towards them and repeated, "Do I have a molar in my hair?"

Unable to fight the violent shakes that suddenly racked her body at the revolting thought of what was now covering not only Chuck, but her as well, Tabitha lurched to her feet and began scrambling across the battlefield that had once been Chuck's living room.

"This has been a really stressful day," she could hear Chuck brokenly lamenting.

Dean spoke almost to himself. "Cas, you stupid bastard." But stopped and looked up as his sister ungainly scrambled out of the living room. "Tab? You okay? Where you going?" he pressed as he picked his way after her to stop her.

She held warding hands up, swallowing thickly to keep the bile from rising as she told him, "I need to be clean. I need to wash this off me. I need to shower." Her hands shook as she frantically spoke and gestured to herself, and she knew her reaction wasn't putting her brothers at ease after they'd found her and she'd still been so deep in shock she hadn't been able to speak. Being clean and washing…everything…off of her would hopefully make her coherent and sane again. At least she hoped so. "I'm gonna use your shower," she finally squeaked out to Chuck, scrambling over the things that had fallen off the walls to climb Chuck's stairs.

She breathed a little easier when she'd finally locked herself in Chuck's bathroom. Being alone without three men staring at her helped. Having the three men stare at her like she was going to break any second was beginning to make her feel like she really _was_ going to break if someone looked at her crossways. A few minutes alone were all she needed to get herself together. To pull some sense of calm over herself.

Until she stepped away from the door and caught the reflection of what her brothers and Chuck had been staring at. _No wonder they were staring at me like I was gonna break,_ she thought to herself.

The image staring back at her in horror seemed nothing like the image she usually saw staring back at her. Her blond hair was hanging in twisted sections, streaked red with blood and matted to her head in deep shades of red. Even her skin was streaked with red and other things she still didn't want to consider.

Her perceived calm vanished in an instant as she saw the bits of Castiel covering her all over. She could see that Chuck had indeed wiped her face at some point, but all it had achieved was swirling the blood across her cheeks to where it met the thick splotches of blood still clinging to her neck and clothes.

Tabitha lurched sideways from the mirror over the sink and heaved into the toilet. Her nerves feeling once more shot as she emptied her stomach and tried to focus on the burning sensation of her throat and not the fact that Castiel had died protecting her and helping her brothers. And for his disobedience, had been splattered across her and Chuck, and Chuck's living room.

Shaking hands pulled at her clothes, yanking the long-sleeve t-shirt over her head and shoving her jeans past her hips to let them fall with a thud to the floor as she frantically toed her boots off. She looked down at herself and felt a little better. Standing in her underwear, it didn't seem so bad. Her body had been shielded by her clothes mostly. But she knew how bad her face and neck looked, so she quickly peeled off the rest and stepped into Chuck's shower.

Like the rest of the house, anything that had been on a wall now lay on the floor, so she carefully picked up the bottle of shampoo from the bottom of the shower and worked the lather through her hair. It wasn't what she would have normally used, but being manly and pine-scented seemed more appealing than what she had been.

As she ran her hands over her neck, she peeled away the telfa pad that was getting soaked by the water, tentatively feeling the skin underneath to check Bobby's stitch job.

But there weren't any stitches. She pressed her palm against the side of her neck, but couldn't feel anything. Not even a bump or raised skin to mark where Sam had cut her.

Then she remembered the slightest tingling sensation she'd felt as Castiel had held her to his side. It had been overwhelmed by the power of the archangels, but Castiel had obviously taken the time to heal her before… She whispered a soft thanks to the angel who could no longer hear her. Shedding a few silent tears for the angel as they were swept away and hidden by the flow of water before anyone could bear witness to their fall.

Standing for hours under the warm spray of the shower had never seemed more appealing to Tabitha, but the warm spray had allowed her mind to function again, and she knew they didn't have the luxury of her wasting time now. She hadn't even thought to ask her brothers what had happened at the convent or if Dean had been there in time to stop Sam. Her fervent prayer was that their presence now meant everything was fine, but something in the pit of her stomach said that was just wishful thinking. She'd prayed to God that Castiel would somehow be okay, but she knew that was merely wishful, too.

More than anything, she wanted to take the time to mourn Castiel, who had died for them—for her. To mourn what they'd had—whatever it had been—and to mourn what could have one day been. To mourn the possible future and emotions that might have grown—for him and for her. But tears and crying were not actions Tabitha was accustomed to. And certainly not something she wanted her brothers to see.

As she'd done too often, Tabitha chose instead to shove the emotion aside for the moment. Better to deal with any fallout that came in the direction of the Winchesters first. She'd save the tears and mourning for a time when she could hole-up somewhere alone for a few days so her brothers wouldn't see her tears and think her weak.

When she stepped out of the shower, she was surprised to see a stack of clothes just inside the door, but she silently thanked whichever of her brothers had scrounged up some clothes for her. It was just a clean t-shirt, plain sweatpants, and a pair of flip-flops, but Chuck's clothes were preferable to the alternative, even if it meant going sans underwear and bra. Her own clothes she left untouched on Chuck's bathroom floor. Perhaps it was unfair to leave them for him to dispose of, but she couldn't bear to touch them again and think about the angel that now coated them.

A wave of power rolled over her skin as she reached the top of the stairs. It was nowhere near the power of the archangels that had come hours before, and through she'd only briefly encountered him, she wasn't surprised to hear Zachariah's voice drifting up the stairs.

"Thought we'd find you here," she heard the angel tell her brothers. "Playtime's over, Dean. Time to come with us," he continued.

She was tiptoeing down the stairs as best she could in the flip-flops when she heard Dean crossly answer the angel, "You keep your distance, asshat."

As she rounded the bottom of the stairs, she saw three angels confronting her brothers and Chuck, Zachariah in the center of the angels. But the trio from Heaven were so focused on the boys, that they didn't even notice her slip behind them to lean back against the outside of the wall to the living room. It was clearly an antagonistic meeting between the two groups, so she decided to remain hidden and see what was going on.

"You're upset," Zachariah responded to her brother in a falsely concerned toned.

"Yeah—a little," Dean angrily forced out. "You sons of bitches jumpstarted Judgment Day!"

Tabitha closed her eyes at that, now knowing that her older brother obviously _hadn't_ stopped Sam from breaking the last seal—not that she regretted Lilith's death. And that Lucifer—the damned Devil himself—was now on the loose. Things in their lives just always went from bad, to worse, to screwed.

Her head fell back against the wall as she thought about the sacrifice Castiel had made, now for naught since Lucifer had still been freed.

"Maybe we _let_ it happen," Zachariah was condescendingly answering her brother. "We didn't _start_ anything. Right Sammy?"

The angel's arrogant tone brought Tabitha back to the moment, reminding her that they couldn't trust other angels now with Castiel gone. Not after Zachariah admitted to their machinations in helping the start of the apocalypse all along.

A broken picture frame near her foot caught her eye, and she bent to pick the frame up, fingering the broken glass inside the frame covering what looked like a 10-year-old Chuck holding a fish proudly for the camera.

"You had a chance to stop your brother and you couldn't," Zachariah continued to lecture. "So let's not quibble over who started what. Let's just say it was all our faults and move on. 'Cause like it or not…it's Apocalypse Now. And we're back on the same team again."

"Is that so?" Dean asked in an unimpressed voice.

The angel continued, "You want to kill the Devil. We _want_ you to kill the Devil. It's…synergy."

"And I'm just supposed to trust you? Cram it with walnuts, ugly."

"This isn't a game, son. Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike _now_ , hard and fast—before he finds his vessel."

Sam spoke up, asking, "His vessel? Lucifer needs a meat suit?"

"He _is_ an angel," he chuckled in return. "Them's the rules. And when he touches down, we're talking four horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies—the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean. But you need our help."

"You listen to me, you two-faced douche—after what you did, I don't want jack squat from you!"

" _You_ listen to _me_ , boy!" the angel shouted back. "You think you can rebel against us?" he chuckled darkly again. "As Lucifer did?"

Tabitha shouldered around the edge of the entrance to the living room to see Zachariah facing off with her older brother, Sam at his shoulder to back him up. "Boy…you could cut the tension in here with a knife," she casually told the room, leaning her shoulder against the entry and crossing her arms over her chest to hide her lack of bra a bit while she tried to diffuse some of the tension choking the room.

Zachariah stepped back a pace from her brothers, turning a sneer on her. "Figured you wouldn't be far, either. You Winchesters can usually be counted on to stick together."

"So we can," she told the room, informing not only the angels, but also her brothers that she still had their backs.

"You have your part to play, too, sweetheart," Zachariah informed her, pointing an imperious finger at her.

"Oh?" she shrugged. "Isn't that nice. But I'm with Dean on this one. And he already told you, we don't want anything to do with any of you."

"You think what you wants makes a difference?" he snidely told her. "You'll do as you're told."

"Is that so?" She shrugged again, telling them, "I don't think so."

A trickle of blood slipped down her inner wrist and over her other arm, catching Zachariah's gaze as his face scrunched and he stated in confusion, "You're bleeding."

She glanced down at her arms crossed over her chest. "So I am," she agreed, pushing away from the entryway and dropping her arms. She informed the angels, "You guys didn't seem all that friendly. I figured we might need a way to evict you from the party if you decided you didn't want to play nice."

Stepping back from the wall, she reached her bloody palm for the sigil she'd drawn on the opposite side of the wall, where the angels couldn't see it.

But Zachariah knew what was happening, and started towards her, screaming, "No!"

Her bloody palm connected with the sigil before the angels could reach her, and in an explosion of light, they disappeared from Chuck's living room.

"I learned that from watching Castiel, you assholes," she quietly informed the departed angels.

"This sucks ass," Chuck dejectedly sighed.

Her brothers crossed the room to stand in front of Tabitha.

"Thanks for the backup," Sam told her, not quite looking up from the floor to meet her eyes.

Dean was busy inspecting the slash on her arm, but Tabitha reached out to her little brother, grabbing his arm and trying to gain his attention. "Is what he said true? Is Lucifer out?"

Sam's eyes were still downturned as he softly admitted, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

Her older brother was gruff as he spoke to her, but his hands were gentle as he tore at the bottom of his t-shirt and wrapped her arm in the material. "You should be carefully, Tabby. Many more cuts in places like you been getting them and someone'll think you were trying to hurt yourself."

She waited until he'd finished with her arm before she drew his attention to her neck. "That's fine now. I guess Cas healed it before…" She trailed off, unable to say out loud what had happened. Roughly clearing her throat and looking away as moisture gathered in her eyes, she continued, "Besides, I cut _across_ my arm. No one would think that was a serious attempt to injure or kill myself unless it was an upward cut along the arm and vein, starting at the wrist. I just needed a little blood for the sigil."

Dean stepped around the corner to examine the sigil she'd drawn, but Tabitha grabbed his arm, holding him in place as she still held Sam in place with her other hand. "What happened guys? What went wrong?"

Sam pulled out of her grip then, silently stepping away as Dean sighed and reluctantly told her, "I'll explain it all in the car. But we should get out of here before those asshats come back."

* * *

"At least Ruby's dead," Tabitha commented as she let her head fall back against the back seat of the car her brothers had stolen somewhere along the way.

It had taken a while, but her brothers had finally reluctantly told her what had happened, though Sam had withdrawn into himself, letting Dean speak and barely adding anything.

"What happened with Cas?" Dean asked her as they stepped out of the car and began filing into one of their usual kind of motels.

"He died. Apparently for nothing," Tabitha bitterly commented, dropping her few belongings and trying to hold onto her anger to push away tears that might otherwise fall.

"I'm sorry," Sam brokenly whispered, sitting on the edge of a dresser, burying his face in his hands.

Dean looked both uncomfortable and fed up with Sam's continued apologies, telling them in clipped and muttered tones he was going outside to check on "things."

But Tabitha saw her little brother's crumpled form and felt the anger she'd been holding onto deflate a bit.

"We'll figure this out," she tried to assure him as she scrounged through her bag to keep herself busy. She'd left her clothes for Chuck to burn, but had gathered her guns and such and placed them in a plastic bag at his house before they left. Her borrowed sweatpants were unfortunately too baggy to be counted on for holding a gun at her waist like jeans could.

The room was silent for a few minutes, but Sam eventually broke it, lowly telling her, "I'm so sorry about what I did, Tab. I just…"

She looked up as he trailed off, seeing him look down uncomfortably at his clasped hands as he avoided her eyes.

Her hand trailed up almost unconsciously to her neck as her finger lightly trailed across the now smooth skin. With a forced shrug, she looked away and told him. "I know you didn't mean it, Sammy. It's fine. Cas healed it before…"

The weight of the room pressed down on her, and she eventually looked back to see her brother staring at her with a small scowl on his face.

"What?"

Hesitantly, he finally began, "It's just…I've been trying to figure out _why_ I went after your blood like that. I know I was jonesing for demon blood, but you were the only non-demon I went after."

She hastily pushed her things away and stood to go into the bathroom, suddenly feeling like she needed another shower even though she'd taken one at Chuck's house. "I don't know," she told him. "You were in a bad way."

Sam grabbed her wrist as she tried to pass him. "It's more than that, Tabitha. You were the only human I went after. I smelled something in your blood. What are you hiding? You need to tell us. You can't keep lying about whatever this is. Someone could get hurt."

With a jerk, she yanked her arm away. "Like Cas? Too late, he's dead. Why are you even asking? Are you afraid that I might be lying about something and cause Lucifer to be released from his prison? Oh, wait. You already did that."

Her little brother jerked back more effectively than if she'd slapped him, and she instantly felt the guilt return for the way she lashed out at him to abate her own tears.

"Yeah," he admitted, staring at the floor again. "But I guess I know a little something about keeping secrets and the results."

She shrugged off the warning, but didn't know what else to say to ease the wound she'd just caused. Finally, she decided it was best just to step away for a while to give them both time to lick their wounds. "I'm gonna take a shower," she muttered as she started to slip away, but she paused to add, "I didn't really mean that, Sam. But sometimes my bite and bark are both pretty bad."

* * *

Dean was alone in the motel room when she stepped out of the bathroom, still toweling her hair dry. He looked up from loading his pistol and laying out shotgun rounds as she entered the room, dressed once more in Chuck's clothes.

"You doing better?" he asked her.

"Yeah. It's nice to get clean."

His hands paused briefly in loading the clip into his pistol as he stared at her. "You showered at Chuck's. How much cleaner did you need to be?"

She fought a shudder at the thought of why she'd showered at Chuck's, suddenly feeling the need to turn around and jump back into the shower she'd just left. Irrational or not, some part of her couldn't help feeling like if she scrubbed hard enough on her skin, she might be able to wash away the feeling of Castiel spewed across her. And she might be able to push him away from her mind for a few moments if she could just clean away the feeling of his insides splattered on her skin.

When she felt tears start to sting at her eyes, Tabitha turned away and busied herself with searching in her bag for something that might tie her hair back and have an excuse to keep her brother's probing eyes from witnessing her tears.

Quickly covering the awkward pause, she told him over her shoulder as she began finger combing through her knotted hair, "I smelled like a pine tree. The pine scent isn't so bad on guys, but I don't particularly care to smell like a dude. Non-scented motel soap was better than being pine-scented."

Dean grunted behind her as she heard him resume laying out ammo.

"You seemed to take Cas's death pretty hard."

The fingers paused briefly in her hair before she resumed her work. She was surprised by her brother's observation, but not at all fooled by his deceptively blasé statement. As smooth as Dean thought himself, she'd always been able to hear the edge under his tone when he was fishing for something.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he did sorta explode all over me and Chuck," she told him, sitting on the edge of one of the beds, facing the wall away from her brother's assessing stare.

"Never seen you freeze up like that," he continued calmly observing. "Kinda freaked me and Sam out when we came in and saw you going all zombie-like. I mean, you've seen some pretty crazy deaths before, you never shut down like. You threw up that one time, but never went all vacant-stare before."

Tabitha twisted on the bed to shoot her brother a glare. "I was fourteen and had just seen my first werewolf death. Excuse me for upchucking a little. Me and Sam had just eaten a pizza. My stomach was a little sensitive at seeing my first completely shredded body. And you rode me about that for three years."

Dean's mouth quirked up a little at the memory. "Yeah. But that's my point. A little teasing from me, and you were like a machine after that. So why'd you react so strongly this time?"

She let her hands fall away from her still tangled hair as she made an exasperated noise. "He was a friend, Dean. What, did you expect me to be an impersonal machine when I was covered in the insides of a friend?"

Setting his gun aside, Dean turned towards her and propped a hip up on the table. "Didn't realize you were that good of friends with him. Hell, you handled Pamela's death with a few tears and kept right on going. You talked with her on the phone all the time—texted with her. I didn't think you'd even talked with Castiel that much. Unless there's more going on than I realized."

A heavy, sick feeling twisted in her gut, and she felt the returning threat of tears as she stood and angrily tossed her towel on the floor. Better to attack than to give in to her tears. " _What?_ " she angrily demanded. "Are you gonna ride me for having emotions and being a little shocked at seeing Castiel explode like that? Gonna accuse me of something? What do you think was going on? He was an _angel_."

Their standoff was broken by Sam entering the room again.

"Hey," he greeted the tense room.

"Hey," Dean and Tabitha returned in simultaneous and stiff voices.

Sam paused, but true to Winchester fashion, chose to ignore the palpable tension, clearing his throat as he tossed something at each of his siblings, telling them, "Here. Hex bags. No way the angels will find us with those. Demons, either, for that matter."

Dean tore his suspicious stare off Tabitha and turned it onto the bag in his hands, asking, "Where'd you get it?"

"I made it."

"How?" Tabitha inquired, turning the hex bag over in her hands. She nearly tossed it back to her brother, knowing her charm bracelet and the sigils on her ribs hid her, but decided a little extra precaution was never a bad thing.

Both Tabitha and Dean looked up at their little brother when he paused just a little too long for their comfort.

"I…" he stuttered, trying to speak quickly to head off their suspicious looks. "I learned it from Ruby," he finally admitted in a quiet voice.

Dean set his pistol on the table, taking a few steps towards Sam. "Speaking of… How you doing? Are you jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?"

Tabitha's hand crept unconsciously up to cover the side of her neck, but when her younger brother's eyes darted guiltily away from her, she made an effort to drop her hand.

"I—it's weird," Sam uncomfortably told them, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a guilty child. "Uh, tell you the truth, I'm fine. No shakes, no fever. It's like whoever…put me on that plane cleaned me right up."

Dean hadn't missed the looks between his siblings, but casually commented, "Supernatural methadone."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam nervously agreed. "Tab, Dean—" he apologetically continued.

"Sam," Dean broke in. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything." He turned away as he spoke, trying to physically put the discussion behind him.

Sam gave a relieved chuckle. "Well, that's good. Because what can I even say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I screwed up'? Doesn't really do it justice, you know?"

Tabitha turned her attention towards her bag when she felt Sam look her way again.

"Not after what I did," he continued with a meaningful look at her before he continued. "Look, there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right—"

"So why do you keep bringing it up?!" Dean angrily broke in. He turned and stepped towards Sam again. "Look, all I'm saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope? We made a mess. We clean it up. That's it."

"I'm with Dean," Tabitha threw in. "It happened. We can't undo it. Let's just fix what happened and move on."

Dean nodded in agreement. "All right, so, say this is just any other hunt. You know? What do we do first?"

Nodding his mutual agreement, Sam responded, "We'd, uh, figure out where the thing is."

"All right. So we just got to find…" Dean heaved a sigh before finishing with, "the Devil."

Tabitha moved over to the small table where Dean's guns and ammo were laid out, sitting in one of the chairs as she commented, "Oh, sure. Piece of cake. We'll just look him up in the Yellow Pages. Do you think he's listed under 'D' for Devil, or 'L' for Lucifer, maybe even 'S' for Satan? Or hey, maybe we should look under the listings for 'Hell.' Could even be under Beelzebub, or—"

"We get it," Dean broke in. "This isn't going to be like looking for a demon or something. But come on, this is the Devil. There's got to be some kind of lore that can help with how to find the Devil." He looked between his siblings. "So, research. That oughta make the two of you happy."

Tabitha rubbed at the tension in her forehead. "Sure. Research the Devil. I'm sure there's lots of lore on him. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I heard that if you go down to Georgia and play the fiddle it'll bring him right out."

Ignoring her sarcasm, Dean admitted, "Okay, so it's going to be hard finding _reliable_ lore on the Devil. But we can start as soon as Bobby gets here with the Impala. And then you can start with that old bible of Mom's that you've got. It's been useful before. I'll give Bobby a call again, too, see if he's bringing anything else that might be useful and when he's gonna get here."

* * *

Bobby quickly engulfed Dean in a hug when he came through the motel door, slapping him on the back before moving on to sweep Tabitha in another hug.

"Good to see you kids all in one piece," he told them as he moved on to hug Sam.

"You weren't followed, were you?" Dean pressed as the siblings gathered around the older hunter.

"You mean by angels, demons, or Sam's new superfan?"

Sam scoffed and looked away in embarrassment. "You heard?" he laughed.

"I heard, Romeo," Bobby answered.

"I think it's cute," Tabitha snickered. "I mean, maybe you should go for her, Sam. She already knows everything about you and for some reason is still crazy for you. You guys could get hitched, and make giant, crazy little babies."

Sam bumped his elbow playfully into his sister. "Yeah right," he laughed. "Like I'd marry her in a million years."

"So…" Bobby interrupted, driving the conversation back on topic. "Sword of Michael, huh?"

"That's what superfreak said," Tabitha confirmed.

Dean looked skeptical. "You think we're talking about the actual sword from the actual archangel?"

"You better friggin' hope so," Bobby confirmed.

"Then let's hit the lore books," Sam answered. He jerked his head towards the door. "I'll go grab what we've got in the car and whatever you brought, Bobby."

"Oh! Grab my dark gray duffle bag, too, Sam. It has some extra clothes in it. Along with the Campbell family bible," Tabitha told him.

"What do I look like? A pack mule?" he laughed a little incredulously.

"Naw, even better, you're bigger than a pack mule," she laughed, batting her lashes and giving a falsely sweet smile.

Bobby snorted, stepping towards the door with Sam. "I'll help grab what I brought."

Once the pair had gone out the door, Dean turned to his sister. "What do you think?"

"About what?" she wondered, her expression turning serious.

He shrugged a little, glancing towards the closed door. "Sam," he confided. "He seem okay to you?"

She shrugged as well. "He seems torn up about what happened," she thoughtfully answered. "But it's not really his fault. We just need to figure this whole mess out together."

Dean snorted derisively in return. Whether it was because he did blame their brother, or because he didn't believe they could fix things, she couldn't say. Bobby and Sam reentered the room before she had the chance to question her brother.

An hour later, Bobby was holding an old copy of a bible open on the table in front of them. "That's Michael—" he pointed out, "toughest sumbitch they got."

Tabitha and Sam leaned closer on either side of him to study the paintings of the archangel, sword held aloft, as Dean paced behind them and then leaned closer to look as well.

"You kidding me?" Dean scoffed. "Tough? That guy looks like Cate Blanchett."

Bobby was serious as he answered, "Well, I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, believe me." He pointed to the painting again. "He commands the Heavenly Host. During the last big dust-up upstairs, he's the one who booted Lucifer's ass to the basement. He did it with that sword. So if we can find it…"

"We can kick the Devil's ass all over again," Sam finished. Dean wandered away as Sam continued. "All right. So, where do we start?"

"Divvy up and start reading—try and make sense of Chuck's nonsense."

Bobby turned to Tabitha. "Anything useful in that bible of your momma's?"

She walked over to the bed where she'd left her bag after changing into her own clothes, pulling it out as she answered. "I don't remember reading anything about Michael's sword," she replied, staring dubiously at the large text in her hands. "And I've read everything in this thing that's in English."

"What about what's _not_ in English?" he pushed.

"Yeah, there are several parts in here that are in Latin, a few I think in Aramaic, and I'm not sure what else. Maybe some really old parts in Sumerian. I've been working on the Latin, but it's all tiny, handwritten passages, and my Latin is still a bit rusty."

"Better get on it then," he warned her.

"I know. I know," she answered, staring accusingly at the book in her hands and wondering if she should take a few aspirin in advance of the headache she knew would be coming her way from trying to translate the tiny print of the Latin passages.

A few hours later found Tabitha taking more aspirin to dull the pounding in her head that her first round of pills hadn't staved off.

"You find anything yet?" Dean asked her as she pushed back from the table beside Bobby, leaning back and balancing her chair on its hind legs.

She crossed her arms over her face and forehead to shield her eyes from the glare of the cheap motel lighting as she tilted her head up towards the ceiling.

"Maybe," she softly informed them, her words soft and reluctant. "If I had another year and 5 gallons a day of coffee to complete the translations."

"What's taking so long?" Dean dubiously asked. "Latin ain't that difficult." He lowered is voice a little as he asked, "Is it?"

Her chair dropped to the ground with a thud as she gave her older brother an annoyed look. "No. The Latin itself isn't a problem. I managed to find a promising passage in here mentioning something about a sword killing a serpent."

"'Serpent' being Lucifer?" Sam prompted as he leaned forward across the table from her.

"Yeah, I think so," she confirmed, flipping the open text in front of her back several pages. "It talks in here something about that, but it's kinda vague. Something about another…" She paused as she twirled her hand in the air, searching for the right words. "Verse…no…prophecy, I guess. Or at least it talks about the words of this prophet—" She flipped the pages forward again to a section with a different handwritten language in it. "—Nahara."

"Na-who?" Dean parroted. "Whatever. What did this dude have to say?"

"Nahara," Tabitha repeated. "And not dude—chick. Apparently there _were_ female prophets, too, they just never seemed to get their works included in the widespread versions of the bible because they didn't have a pair—"

"Anyway," Dean headed her off before she could launch into her own feelings of the grossly unjust sexism of both the Old and New Testaments.

"Anyway," she agreed. "This Nahara chick apparently wrote about the final downfall of Lucifer a long, long time ago. The Latin passage I read talks about the grave importance of her words, but doesn't go on to translate them. It says something about not translating her words for fear of losing the 'integrity of the deathly momentous importance of her words as given to her from God.' Or something to that effect."

"From God himself?" Sam asked.

"I guess," she nodded.

"So what's 'her word' have to say?" Dean impatiently pushed.

"No idea," she huffed, pushing the book slightly away from her in frustration. "I'm doing my best to translate her words. It's obviously been copied from what she originally wrote way back when, because this paper isn't thousands of years old, but the language and dialect used here is. Like a thousand years or more before Jesus's time. Ancient Aramaic is tough to translate anyway. But this…"

Dean turned towards Bobby at the table. "You've translated Aramaic before, right? It can't be _that_ hard. I mean, it was used in a lot of bibles, right?"

Bobby gave his a droll look. "More modern Aramaic isn't that hard. It can be translated. But it _is_ a pretty old language. Depends on how far back that prophet goes."

Tabitha nudged the bible closer to Bobby. "Pretty far back," she told them all. "I'm thinking like, eleventh, maybe twelfth century BC. Maybe older. Some of this stuff seems more archaic or even prehistoric compared to some of the old Biblical Aramaic I've seen."

"This does seem pretty old," Bobby confirmed. He leafed through the pages. "You're right, this paper isn't as old as the writing, but it's still pretty darn old. Some of the stuff in here has been printed on a printing press and on paper only a hundred-fifty, maybe two hundred years old, but some of this stuff is considerably older." He leaned back as he pushed the bible back her way. "What'd you say your momma told you about this thing? It almost looks like a Frankenstein work the way it's been pieced together from so many different pieces."

"I don't know," Tabitha shrugged. "I was only a couple of years old, Bobby. I just remember that she said it was her family's bible."

"Which we now know were hunters," Dean pointed out. "We need to get on translating that thing. Whatever you translated from Latin makes it seem like it's pretty darn important."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "I get it. Finding a way to stop the Devil is top of the to-do-list at the moment. I'm trying here."

As they turned back to their books, Sam stood, mumbling about looking for another lore book as he stood up and walked across the motel room.

Tabitha heard her younger brother and Bobby talking to each other from across the room, but was so busily bent over the bible and another Aramaic reference piece she was using to piece together possible translations in a notebook that she didn't pay them much heed.

"You're damn right you didn't listen."

Tabitha looked up at the venom in Bobby's voice, finally registering that she was alone at the table. Bobby had moved closer to stand in front of Sam. She darted a glance at Dean, quickly noticing his tense stance as he stood nearby, seeming ready to intervene if he needed to.

"You were reckless and selfish and arrogant," Bobby angrily continued as Tabitha stared at his back between her and her younger brother.

"I'm sorry," Sam tried to apologize.

"Oh yeah?" Bobby demanded. When the older man started to stalk even closer, Tabitha uneasily slipped to her feet, moving to stand beside Dean as she nervously waited to see what was happening. "You're sorry you started _Armageddon_?" Bobby continued to growl. "This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off…I want you to lose my number."

"Bobby!" Tabitha hissed from behind him, shocked by the continued venom Bobby was hurling at her brother. "That's uncalled for!"

He ignored her outburst. "You understand me?" he continued to Sam.

Sam looked devastated, but nodded several times before stepping away. His voice was soft as he told them, "There's an old church nearby. Maybe I'll go read some of the old lore books there."

"Yeah. You do that," Bobby snidely told him.

Tabitha looked incredulously at her older brother for support, but he avoided her gaze, instead staring coldly forward at their younger brother as he started out of the motel room.

Twirling away, she stomped over to the table and grabbed her work, stacking them in her arms as she jogged after her brother. Dean grabbed at her arm to stop her, but she easily evaded his grip. "Don't you dare," she hissed.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I can research just as well in an old church as I can here," she answered.

"Just let him be by himself for a while," Dean told her, his arms folded over his chest in his usual thou-shall-listen-to-me pose.

Tabitha paused in the doorway to glare back at the men still in the room. "God save me from testosterone-fueled, pig-headed stupidity and maliciousness. What's done is done. Treating him this way isn't going to change what happened. So let's just get on with fixing things. Besides, Sam's punishing himself just fine on his own. We don't need to heap more on him. I'll admit I've been mad, too, and said things I shouldn't have, but he's still our little brother. You can't keep pushing him away without breaking him, Dean."

Looking away, Dean whispered, "I'm not even sure he's still our brother."

She snorted. "And maybe that's the difference between brothers and sisters. Sisters know that no matter what's been done, it doesn't change what really matters. He's still our little brother. That'll never change. No matter how lost he's gotten." She looked him up and down before adding, "Or how lost _you've_ gotten for that matter."

Sam was partway down the block when she finally caught up with him. She nearly commented on his stride being too long for hers when he slowed and shortened his stride to accommodate her, silently allowing her to fall in step beside him. She didn't say anything to him in return, just handed him a few of her books with a grin, letting him share the load with her as she showed him in her own way that she was still with him.

He didn't speak as they walked to the church. And she didn't speak as they began their research in the basement of the old church together.

* * *

They again shared the burden of carrying Tabitha's books several hours later as they made their way back to the motel.

"You find anything more?" Sam quietly asked, breaking the comfortable silence they'd held since leaving the motel together hours before.

"A little," she admitted. "Just not sure of all my translations yet." She jerked her thumb back the way they'd come. "That old bible that priest gave me back there might be helpful though. It's not quite the same Aramaic as what I'm working on, but it might be enough closer to that time-period of Aramaic that I might be able to make better educated guesses at translating this. There's something about war or fighting. And something I think about Armageddon or End Times I think."

Sam shook his head slightly, repeating, "'Educated guesses' sounds kinda dangerous when we're dealing with defeating the Devil himself. Nothing about a castle on a hill of forty-two dogs?"

Knowing he was as worried as she was, she shrugged and nonchalantly replied, "Nothing about that. But you know… We're Winchesters. We improvise and fly by the seat of our pants, anyway. We'll figure out what Chuck meant."

Sam stopped so suddenly, that Tabitha overshot him by two steps before she swung back to look curiously up at her brother.

"What?" she asked. Seeing the tense lines of his jaw, she stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

"Whatever it is you're not telling us…I get if you don't trust me. After what I did… But you should at least tell Dean. I think I've proven what a disaster secrets are."

The sudden topic change startled her, but the way her brother's eyes darted around and avoided her told her how upset and guilty her brother still felt about what he'd done.

Truthfully, she felt her own guilt, too. She'd felt justified in snapping at Sam when he'd last brought up what she wasn't telling them about her blood, but after seeing Bobby and Dean so coldly dismiss him, she felt less than righteous now. More like she'd kicked a puppy.

Mimicking his nervous stance, she looked down and shifted her feet as she admitted, "I know. But there have been enough blows at the moment. Let's just deal with this for now. I'll figure out what to say. Find a way to tell Dean."

Risking a glance up, she saw Sam staring down with a frown. "You can't keep whatever this is secret forever."

She saw the hurt in his eyes as he assumed she didn't trust him enough to tell him what was going on.

"Remember when that demon grabbed me back at my place in Virginia?"

His face registered his surprise at her confiding in him before he nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

"I told you guys that she started to mark something on my arm, but Cas showed up and stopped her before she finished?" When he nodded, she continued in a rush, "I think there was demon blood in it."

Sam's face dropped in shock and horror. Rather than stand under his stare, Tabitha turned and began walking briskly back towards the motel.

He fell in step with her before she reached the end of the block.

"Guess we're both freaks, huh?" she whispered in a wooden voice, trying to keep her own fear out.

"You need to tell Dean," he repeated.

Shaking her head, she repeated, "One blow at a time, remember?"

She expected Sam to lecture her again, but he held his tongue as they entered the motel.

"I'm glad Cas kept that demon from finishing whatever she was trying to do to you," he finally whispered to her.

Swallowing hard, she spoke through the lump suddenly lodged in her throat. "Me, too. I just wish I could have done something for him before…"

Sam looked down at her as they walked. "I can see why you became friends with him, I guess. He saved your bacon a few times, huh?" His expression tightened as they neared their room. "Or was it more than that?" he started to ask.

"A few hours," she whispered to herself.

"What?" Sam murmured, confused by her utterance to herself.

But a few hours without thinking about the angel was all she'd gotten. And she couldn't help but wonder if that was the best she would get. Would he always swim back to the forefront of her thoughts? Would he always be there just below the surface?

"Never mind," she muttered.

"Are you all right, Tab?"

Before she could respond, they heard raised voices and crashes from inside their room. Sam pushed through the door first. He started forward when they saw a man attacking Dean and Bobby lying on the floor, but as Sam rushed through the doorway, he fell back as a phone connected with his face.

Grabbing his shoulders from behind, Tabitha held him upright for a moment as a brunet woman stalked closer.

"Heya, Sammy," she greeted. "You miss me? 'Cause I sure missed _you_."

"Meg," he whispered.

Peering around her brother, Tabitha tried to place the woman, but had never seen the shorter woman dressed in dark clothes and a black leather jacket.

"Who the hell is Meg?" she demanded.

"Oh, you never told your sister about me? I'm hurt," the woman—Meg—clucked in falsely hurt tones.

"Demon," Sam whispered before pushing forward and taking a swing at the woman.

His aim sailed over her head as the woman ducked under his fist, but Tabitha stepped behind her brother as Meg knocked him back with an uppercut, pushing him out of the way as she grabbed the woman by the shoulders and drove her knee up into the demon's face.

Meg twisted and touched her fingers to her bloody nose. "Mmm, that tingles in all the right places," she intoned with a purr.

When the demon launched forward, Tabitha twisted and sidestepped, letting her momentum carry her past as Tabitha delivered a low punch to the woman's kidney. Unfortunately, the blow didn't stun her the way a normal human would have been, and Meg took advantage of the proximity to drive her elbow up into Tabitha's face.

Sam stepped in as Tabitha held her bleeding nose, yelling at her, "I'll handle her. Check on Bobby."

Tabitha fell to her knees beside Bobby as Dean yanked Ruby's knife from the man's stomach, stabbing it into the demon he'd been struggling with. Blood immediately pooled around the wound, and with shaking hands, Tabitha pressed her palms over the hauntingly familiar wound. Her eyes connected with Bobby's pain-filled gaze, and she thought she saw a flicker of remembrance for the way she knelt near him and staunched the bleeding wound in his stomach.

A scream filled the air, and Tabitha looked over her shoulder to see Meg smoking out of the poor woman she'd been possessing.

Dean crouched beside her then, his lip cut and bloody, but otherwise whole as he assessed Bobby.

"We need to get him to a hospital," she shakily told her brothers. "What happened? How'd he get stabbed?"

"Did it himself," Dean grimly informed her. "He'd been possessed since he got here. But somehow Bobby took control enough to stab himself and kill the demon."

She couldn't wrap her head around it, but she knew one thing. "He needs help. Now."

Nodding, Dean ordered their brother, "Get over here, Sam. Help me get him up."

Bobby was still conscious as they stumbled through the doors of the nearest ER, but Tabitha knew it was by stubborn will alone that the man was still on his feet.

"What happened?" a nurse demanded as her brothers helped Bobby in.

"He was stabbed!" Dean shouted.

The middle-aged nurse took charge of the situation, quickly ordering, "Can we get a gurney?"

As Bobby was wheeled away from the siblings, the nurse barred their path from following him.

"Just wait here," she ordered them used to being obeyed.

"No, no, we—we can't just leave him!" Sam frantically answered.

The nurse looked at them with suspicious eyes. "Just don't move. I've got questions."

As the nurse walked away, Dean told them, "Sammy, Tab, we got to go."

"No. No way, Dean," Sam argued.

"The demons heard where the sword is. We got to get to it before _they_ do. If we're not too late already."

Tabitha suddenly felt her shoulder jostle as she stared through the doorway where they'd taken Bobby.

"Come on!" Dean yelled at her, trying to jar her attention away. She finally looked back at them.

"You guys go. I'll stay with him. I can't leave him," she replied in an unsteady voice, staring down now at her hands once more covered in the man's blood. "This can't happen again," she whispered to herself as she struggled to stop her shaking hands. "He can't die." But Castiel was no longer around to save the old man she loved like a father.

"There will be a lot of questions," Dean warned her, seeming torn but wavering on letting her stay and forcing her to go with so he knew where she was.

She wiped at her nose, covering her hand in more blood. "I'll think of something. I just can't leave him here alone if…" she answered in a dull tone.

"Come on, Sam," Dean ordered again. "We've got to find the sword before they do. Tab will watch out for Bobby."

Tabitha finally looked up. "You know where it is?"

"One of dad's storage units in Upstate New York. Castle Storage. 42 Rover Hill."

She snorted when Chuck's message finally made sense. "Hill of 42 dogs," she bitterly laughed to herself. She turned back to Dean. "Go," she ordered. "Find the sword and stop this mess before anyone else dies."

Dean kissed her forehead, whispering, "Be safe." He pulled away and looked at her again with a slight frown. "Get that nose checked. Looks broken."

"You guys be safe, too," she called after their retreating forms.

Her brothers were gone when the suspicious nurse stopped in front of her again. Tabitha quickly calculated how to best lower the woman's suspicions, and though she hated to play the card, she knew crying and distraught victim would get to anyone.

With the ease of a sister that had played that card when outmatched by bigger and stronger brothers, Tabitha let her face crumple and the waterworks begin. It had been a long time since she'd cried on cue—a ploy her father had actually taught her since there was no better trick for distracting people than a crying little girl—but she had no trouble bringing her tears to the surface. All it took was releasing the tenuous hold she'd held on her tears for too long anyway. As Tabitha broke down in front of the woman, the older nurse predictably wrapped her arm around the younger and vulnerable woman. The protective instinct overtaking her suspicious one as she shushed Tabitha and tried to soothe her.

As the nurse led her to a curtained bay in the ER and set her on bed to begin cleaning at her still bloody nose, Tabitha continued to allow the woman to comfort her. She shed every tear she'd been holding in, and accepted the woman's comfort for things the woman knew nothing about. Allowing her fear for Bobby to wash over her, and letting her mournful tears for Castiel's death to finally fall.

But as the woman squatted in front of her and probed Tabitha's nose to check it's alignment, she finally began to ask her questions.

"Now, what happened, dear?" she kindly asked.

"Is he gonna be all right?" Tabitha asked instead, her voice nasally from the gauze around her nose.

The nurse stared at her for a moment, but finally relented. "The man you came in with was being taken straight to surgery. I don't know anything yet." And then she waited for Tabitha to answer her questions.

For another moment, Tabitha let her face fall into her hands, struggling to close the dam she'd opened in an effort to gain the sympathies of the nurse, but once she'd stuffed her feeling down again, she began relating to the nurse, "I was mugged. This guy in a ski mask came out of nowhere. And…and he hit me when I tried to hold onto my purse." She gestured to her nose where the nurse had packed gauze to stem the bleeding. "My dad tried to stop him…but…but that man stabbed him!" she tearfully related. She cast about for how to finish the story, knowing she couldn't say her brothers were really her brothers since they'd now disappeared. "Those two men heard me shouting and helped me get my father here. I should have just let him have my stupid purse." She wiped at her eyes, quickly demanding, "Is he going to be okay? Can I see him?"

The nurse patted her shoulder as she stood. "I'll go check on him. But it's probably going to be a while before you can see him."

Tabitha stood as well. "I want to come with."

The nurse hesitated. "You should really be checked out by one of the ER doctors."

"No. I'll wait for my father to come out of surgery."

Seeing her resolve, the nurse finally relented and gestured for Tabitha to follow her to another part of the hospital.

"You can wait here, but you should probably get some sleep. You look like you could use it, dear."

Tabitha sat in the empty waiting room the nurse had brought her to, but vowed to herself that she wouldn't sleep until she knew whether or not Bobby was all right. But fatigue soon overtook her, and as she closed her eyes, she knew he might not be. Castiel had been there to save the day last time, and she still couldn't get used to the fact that he was truly gone. And Bobby might soon be joining him.

As she drifted off, she prayed again. For some kind of miracle. For her and her brothers to find a way to stop Lucifer. For Bobby to be all right. For Castiel…

* * *

"You need to accept that he's really gone."

Tabitha turned on her lounge chair to look at the woman beside her.

"I know, Pam," she sullenly answered. "I know. But it's still hard for my heart to accept that I'll never see him again. Things were left so…unresolved between us. My heart wants to tear open and bleed just to get the mourning over with, but I'm afraid if I really truly let myself go now, I'll never be able to stop it."

Pamela turned onto her side, her eyes once more whole and beautiful as she propped her head up with her elbow on the wooden lounge chair, ignoring the gorgeous view of the ocean laid out in front of them.

"But he _is_ gone now, sweetie," Pamela answered. "And things are only gonna get tougher from here on out."

She gave a small nod of agreement, but asked Pamela something else she'd been wondering about for some time. "Is this what Heaven's like? It's not so bad if it is."

The former psychic seemed to hesitate, but finally said, "For some. Heaven is whatever makes you happiest. Maybe this could be yours. Every human has a place in Heaven."

"What about angels?"

She hesitated again, but admitted, "Heaven is for humans. At least it becomes their final home. Angels were meant to watch over Heaven for them—to be caretakers, I suppose. But it's not truly theirs."

Tabitha turned on her side to mimic her friend's pose. "What happens to angels that die?"

"I don't know," came her friend's answer. "But I'm sure God must have something in store."

But there was the slightest hesitation and uncertainty in her friend's eyes.

Still, it was nice to see her friend again.

"I've missed you, Pam."

"Things are pretty bad down there, huh?" Pamela sympathized, sitting up in her lounge chair and looking across the ocean again.

Tabitha followed her into a sitting position, absently tugging on her white bikini strap as she admitted, "Things have gotten pretty confusing down there."

"It doesn't have to be," Pamela suddenly told her.

Both women turned to sit sideways on their chairs facing each other. Tabitha knew she had many fond memories of swimming and sun tanning at the beach, but she'd never seen her friend in a swimsuit before. But in the strange way of dreams, it seemed perfectly normal that he friend was lounging at the beach in faded jeans and a black tank top.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Tabitha told her.

"You will," Pamela smiled in an almost matronly way. "All you have to do, is protect your brothers for now. You'll understand more when the time comes." She reached out to pull Tabitha's hands into her own. Telling her, "I'll never lie to you. And I'll help you where I can. I know your greatest wish now is to protect your brothers. I understand that. And I'll help you do that if you help me."

"Help you what?" Tabitha asked, confused by what her friend was saying. She seemed so different from the woman she'd known. Had Heaven changed her so much that she suddenly seemed like someone else?

"Sisters have to make hard choices sometimes to protect their brothers, but that's why God gave those boys sisters. Because in the end, sisters are the only ones strong enough to make the hard choices for the betterment of everyone. Because we love them enough to do anything for them."

"What? I don't understand," Tabitha replied, feeling uneasy as she tried to slide back and slip her hands away.

Pamela held her grip though, leaning forward to tell her, "They won't really hurt your brothers—not permanently—but you need to understand. The sword isn't a thing. It's a who. Dean _is_ the sword. He's Michael's vessel. And you need to keep Michael from taking Dean. Don't let him say yes to Michael. Lucifer will find a vessel; he's almost there. But you can't let the battle between Lucifer and Michael get launched. Too much suffering will begin. When the time comes—when you're finally ready—we'll fix it all. We'll stop _all_ the suffering. We'll stop it _all_."

"Miss?" Tabitha jerked awake as a doctor in a white coat and green scrubs crouched in front of her. She wiped at her eyes and the vestiges of her strange dream as she sat up from where she'd curled sideways on the plastic waiting room chairs to demand, "Is he all right?"

"He'll be waking up soon. But you should come with me so I can explain a few things," the doctor kindly told her.

She cursed his kindness. Doctors never had anything good to say when they pulled out the overly kind eyes.

* * *

Tabitha stepped out into the hallway as she paced and nervously attempted to block out Bobby's angry shouting at the doctors and hospital staff in his room. The doctors and staff fled his angry shouts and denials about his prognosis, but she wasn't surprised. Bobby was gruff on his best day. But most people weren't accustomed to it. And this was _not_ a good day.

"Is that Bobby doing all the hollering and scaring people off?"

Tabitha whirled around at Dean's voice, pulling both of her brothers tightly into her arms before they could react. Sam had to bend down to accommodate her, but she was never more relieved to know they were both safe and well.

"They're saying he won't ever walk again," she confided in a hushed voice.

Her brothers jerked back with twin looks of horror, knowing that to a man like Bobby, death might have been preferable.

"He's tough," Sam hastened to assure her. "He'll get through this."

Dean shared their sister's dubious look.

Tabitha swiped nervous hands across her cheeks in an effort to wipe away the threat of tears, asking them instead, "What happened? You guys were vague on the details when you called. You said it was a trap. How'd you get away from the angels?"

Her brothers pulled back more as Dean suspiciously told her, "I didn't say it was angels that set the trap."

She looked around the hallway and gestured them off to the side as she told them in hushed tones, "I just assumed it was. Look, I had this strange…dream…I guess."

"Dream?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah. Pamela was in it. She said that Dean _was_ the sword, and she warned me that we couldn't let you become Michael's vessel. So I just assumed it was angels looking to trap you since that message first came from our prophet, Chuck."

"Pamela told you that? In a dream?" Dean slowly repeated.

"I'm not crazy, so don't look at me that way," she snapped.

Dean glanced around the hallway before he told her, "Well, whatever crazy reason you were having dreams about Pamela, it wasn't a warning I needed to be told. I'm not letting that dick wear me like a condom for anything they can give me. Michael and Lucifer go at it, and they'll tear this planet to shreds. Still, we were lucky Cas showed up when he did. Zachariah about tore _us_ to shreds trying to force a 'yes' out of me."

Her breath left her lungs in a rush as she felt her stomach plummet. Certain she'd heard wrong, she blindly reached out to steady herself against the wall with one hand as she asked, "What did you say?"

"Cas. He saved our asses. I guess God brought him back to life…or so he says. Not sure what I believe."

She felt her legs shake beneath her as Sam reached out to steady her.

"Jesus, Tab," Sam cursed as he held her up by her elbow. "Are you okay? We thought you'd be happy to know Cas was okay."

Dean bent down and tilted his head to peer up into her face as she began to double over. "Christ," he swore. "Are you crying? You never cry unless me or Sam have done something. What's going on? This is a good thing. Right?"

She dumbly touched her cheeks to find that she was indeed crying. Though she tried to assure them she was fine, her mouth only hung open in a strangled silence.

"I can't believe him," she finally whispered. "He didn't…" _—bother to tell me_ , she finished silently. But why had she expected differently? Why had she let herself hope for something more? He was still an angel after all. He'd said he would have had feelings for her if he could. Maybe she'd fooled herself in thinking that meant he _did_ have some kind of feelings. Maybe he _was_ incapable of feelings for her.

Dean glanced between his siblings before he cautiously told her, "I know you've been on and off with hating the angels, but you were damn near catatonic at Cas's death. Why are you so upset now that he's alive?"

"I need some air," she told them as she shook out of their grips. "It's fantastic that he's fine," she tried to assure them. Their dubious looks said she wasn't successful in trying to seem fine.

"Then why are you still crying?" Sam demanded.

She blotted at her cheeks. "I'm just overwhelmed with everything," she tried to explain. "Go see Bobby. I'm gonna get some air."

Overwhelmed didn't begin to cover her emotions. She was elated at the news that Castiel was alive, truly she was, but she couldn't seem to shake the burning hurt that pierced her heart at the same time.

She'd prayed for this kind of miracle. So why did it now feel like she'd had another hole ripped into her heart?


	2. What Is It Good For?

After nearly a week had passed, Tabitha was finally beginning to feel like she'd regained some semblance of control over her emotions.

And finally coming to accept the new twists in their lives. Bobby was officially confined to a wheelchair. The Apocalypse had begun. Lucifer was somewhere out there. And she and her brothers were in the center of it all.

But hardest of all, was that Castiel was alive and well. Even if she still hadn't seen or heard from him to know that herself.

She was happy and relieved that he was alive, she really was.

That didn't mean that it didn't hurt, too.

She found herself wondering if all joy had to be mixed with pain. Did that somehow make it real? Validate it in some way?

The long days helped to make great strides in controlling that hurt though. Even if she still found herself wondering why she couldn't seem to shake a certain angel from her thoughts. She'd all but convinced herself that what he'd told her before he'd…died…had only been because of that impending doom. She couldn't hold him responsible or accountable for making dramatic proclamations when he was about to die. No one would be so foolish as to take that to heart. Right?

No matter how many times she tried to convince herself of it though, the question floated back to the surface, _But if he_ did _mean what he said; why haven't I seen him since? He showed up to my brothers! But not me!_

"Err!" she growled as she slapped the wall that she was leaning against. "He already told you what you need to know! He all but said he wasn't capable of it."

"Who isn't capable of what?"

Tabitha sucked in a surprised breath as she twirled to face Sam. She'd been so lost in the argument with herself that she hadn't even heard her younger brother walking up behind her in the hallway.

"Nothing," she quickly replied. "Just talking to myself."

Sam looked at her suspiciously, but finally let her dodge pass. "You get anything to eat yet?"

Shaking her head, she answered with a wrinkled nose, "No. I hate hospital food." She looked around the hallway. "Where's Dean? He stay at the motel?"

Sam glanced around as well before shrugging away any concern. "He was eyeballing a nurse as we walked in. Probably chased after her in hopes of fulfilling another fantasy or two."

Tabitha shared her brother's laughter, knowing he was probably more than close to being right.

"How's Bobby doing? Any better?" he questioned.

"What do you think?"

Sam followed her gaze through the open door of Bobby's hospital room. The man was upright and in his wheelchair, but he'd been sitting with the same vacant stare out the window for more than an hour.

After a moment, Sam softly suggested, "Why don't you head to the motel, get some rest. Dean and I will take the next shift watching Bobby."

He'd spoken lowly, but Bobby proved there was nothing wrong with his hearing when he grumbled, "Balls! I'm not a dern baby that needs looking after by the likes of you two."

He hadn't looked away from the window or moved though, so Tabitha and Sam chose to ignore his rumblings.

Dean approached just as Tabitha was about to give in to Sam's suggestion of some shut-eye. "What's it been—like, three days now?" he observed, trying to hide the concern in his voice as he strolled up to his siblings. Bobby hadn't spoken since the last doctor had confirmed that he'd be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. "We got to cheer him up," he continued. Then he turned to give his sister a little smirk. "Maybe you could give him a back rub."

"Dean," Sam reproachfully scolded before Tabitha could speak.

"Well, what, then?" he demanded in return.

"Look…we might have to wrap our heads around the idea that Bobby might not just bounce back this time," Sam tried to reason. Changing the subject, he nodded curiously towards the large envelope stamped "x-ray" in Dean's hands.

"Went to radiology. Got some glamour shots." Sam reached across to take the x-ray film, holding it up in the air as he and Tabitha looked up at the image of symbols carved into their brother's ribs.

Dean continued as his siblings examined the film. "Let's just say the doctors are baffled."

"Holy crap," Sam muttered.

Tabitha discreetly ran her fingers along the side of her own ribcage as she cautioned her older brother, "I hope you took any copies they might have had. If those start passing around, they might try to make a human Guinea pig out of you."

With a dry look at Sam, Dean replied, "Yeah, well, Sam'll have to be careful, too, Cas carved _him_ one, as well." He looked down and caught the discreet motion of Tabitha's fingers running along her ribs. "He'll probably carve you up next time we see him. Unless that bracelet of yours is just as good."

She cleared her throat uncomfortably and kept her eyes on the film in Sam's hands as she admitted, "He…ah…sorta already did."

"Excuse me? What?" Dean demanded in a tight voice, his arms crossing disapprovingly over his chest.

She steeled herself and met his gaze as she told him, "He carved my ribs a while back. He was worried about why the demons were after me."

"But this protects against angels," Sam quickly pointed out.

With a frown at his sharp memory, she expounded on her explanation. "Yeah, and Cas was worried about why the demons were after me and me seeing reapers and such, and he said I'd be safer if angels didn't know about those things."

"Anything else you'd like to share with the class?" Dean bit out.

"Nope. Can't think of anything," she quickly answered, grinding her heel into Sam's foot when he shoved a pointed elbow into her side at Dean's question. She knew Dean needed to know…about her blood…but now just didn't seem like the right time to tell him yet another thing she hadn't shared with him right away. She'd do it…when the time was right.

Tabitha stepped into Bobby's room when Sam's phone rang, grateful for the opportunity to step away from the conversation she was afraid her younger brother might launch into whether she was ready for it or not.

"How you doing, Bobby?" she tried asking the man, but he continued to ignore her. She'd had a little hope earlier in the day that they'd been able to get him into the wheelchair and that he'd even asked for his baseball hat, but her glimmer of hope had been short lived, because he'd gone immediately to starting out the window and not speaking to them.

She stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder when he continued to ignore her question and her very existence. Then, his hand reached up to his shoulder, folding over her fingers in a loose, but steady grip as he held her hand to his shoulder.

Not saying a word, she bent down behind him, wrapping her other arm around his collarbone as she whispered in his ear, "We'll always be here for you, Bobby, and we'll figure this out somehow."

He gave a little grunt, but otherwise remained motionless.

She'd ignored her brothers' voices as she leaned over to continue hugging Bobby from behind, but snapped to attention when she suddenly heard Castiel's voice behind her as he apparently answered something one of her brothers had said. "You're hidden from angels now— _all_ angels."

Tabitha quickly stood and turned to look at her brothers and the familiar sight of the trench-coated-angel that hadn't been far from her thoughts, and was now filling the doorway.

Even Bobby seemed suddenly animated, releasing her hand and turning his wheelchair to face the same direction she was as they listened to Castiel continue.

"I won't be able to simply—"

"Enough foreplay," Bobby suddenly growled, cutting off whatever Castiel's explanation had been. "Get over here and lay your damn hands on," he ordered. "Get healing— _now_."

His behavior suddenly made a bit more sense to Tabitha now. He'd been silent and staring out the window. But it hadn't been that he was broken—he was waiting for the angel to come heal him.

"I can't," Castiel told him in response.

Tabitha stared at the angel in shock, thinking of the times he'd healed her and the injury he'd previously healed Bobby of so many months before when she'd asked him to.

"Say again?" Bobby tersely questioned before she could speak.

But she quickly found her voice. "Please, Cas," she entreated.

Castiel's eyes flicked up to her for the barest moment. The first time since she'd watched him explode in front of her, but his eyes quickly cut away as he focused on Bobby, stepping towards the man as he explained, "I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power. Certain things, I can do. Certain things, I can't."

"You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?!"

"I'm sorry."

"Shove it up your ass." Bobby angrily turned his wheelchair back towards the window, staring out it again as he ignored the presence of anyone else in the room.

"Well, at least he's talking," Dean told Sam.

"I heard that," the man growled without facing them.

Castiel still ignored Tabitha as he turned to face her brothers once more, telling them, "I don't have much time. We need to talk."

"Okay," Dean agreed.

"Your plan to kill Lucifer."

"Yeah, you want to help?"

"No. It's foolish. It can't be done."

Tabitha had never been one to allow a man to ignore her for any reason, and she wasn't about to start with the angel. But his cold and detached demeanor had been enough for her to shove away any lingering hope for something between them. At least for the moment.

"It's a plan, Cas," she defended her brothers as she stepped into their circle, sliding a little closer to Sam when Castiel seemed to almost flinch at her nearness when she drew even with him. "We've got to do _something_."

"It can't be done," he reiterated as he stared ahead, looking only at Dean.

"Oh. Well, thanks for the support," Dean retorted.

Still not seeming to grasp sarcasm, Castiel forged ahead. "But I believe I have the solution. There is…someone…besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer—strong enough to stop the Apocalypse."

"Who's that?" Sam asked.

"The one who resurrected me and put you two on that airplane. The one who began everything. God. I'm gonna find God," he told them with an eager conviction.

Dean immediately closed the door to Bobby's room as if they were discussing military secrets of grave importance. Or more likely, like they were discussing something that might get them tossed into the nearest loony bin. "God?" he questioned.

"Yes."

"God."

"Yes. He isn't in Heaven. He has to be somewhere," Castiel explained to them as Sam began to pace in the room and Tabitha stepped away as she tried to process it all.

"Try New Mexico," Dean sarcastically answered. "I hear he's on a tortilla."

The angel waited a beat as he considered it and then with all seriousness told Dean, "No, he's not on any flatbread."

"Sarcasm, Cas. It's sarcasm. He's not serious," Tabitha reminded the angel as she rubbed at the headache building behind her forehead.

Though he still wouldn't look at her, the angel did seem to remember some of her lessons with him on human expressions. But he said only, "Oh," in a soft voice.

"Listen, Chuckles, even if there _is_ a God, he is either dead—and that's the generous theory—"

"He is out there, Dean," the angel interrupted.

Dean ignored him. "…Or he's up and kicking and doesn't give a rat's ass about any of us. I mean, look around you, man. The world is in the toilet. We are literally at the End of Days here, and he's off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut. All right?"

"Enough," Castiel commanded after Dean's diatribe. "This is not a theological issue. It's strategic. With God's help, we _can_ win."

"Fine, Cas," Tabitha broke in, trying to make the angel see reason. "But if it's not theological but it's strategic, can't you see the futileness in wasting our time and resources on finding someone who doesn't seem to care and doesn't want to be found?"

"It's a pipe dream, Cas," Dean chipped in.

Castiel took a few angry steps towards Dean, staring him down as he lectured, "I killed two angels this week." He glanced at Tabitha as he stressed, " _My_ brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it—all of it—" Castiel leaned back slightly from where he'd squared off, leaning back from Dean's face as he stared into Tabitha's eyes meaningfully. Holding her eyes intently, he finished, "For _you_." Then he tore his gaze away to focus on Dean, his eyes shifting so quickly, Tabitha doubted her brothers would even notice where the angel had been looking.

Castiel's voice dipped even lower as he raggedly told Dean, "And you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world. And I lost everything—for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself."

Tabitha gently laid her hand on Castiel's shoulder to draw his attention away from Dean. "Everything isn't lost. We can still figure out how to deal with all of this," she told the angel.

Instead of turning towards her as she had expected, Castiel jerked away from her as if her touch had burned him, refusing to meet her eyes.

In the uncomfortable silence the followed, Bobby finally spoke. "You didn't drop in just to tear us a new hole. What is it you want?"

Ignoring her once more, Castiel turned back towards Dean, telling him, "I did come for something. An amulet."

"An amulet? What kind?" Bobby asked.

"Very rare. Very powerful. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find him."

Tabitha wrapped her arms around herself as she hesitantly moved across the room to stand closer to her younger brother. Sam looked dubious as he questioned, "A God EMF?"

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about. I got nothing like that."

"I know _you_ don't," Castiel answered Bobby. He gave Dean a pointed look and then drew his gaze down to the necklace the oldest Winchester always wore. A gift from Sam in their childhood. For a moment, she glanced down at the necklace _she_ wore. It had been a gift from Sam that same Christmas, but it was just an ordinary key. Nothing special, other than as a pleasant memory. But then, they hadn't thought Dean's necklace was anything special either.

"What—this?" Dean asked as he looked back up.

"May I borrow it?"

"No," Dean automatically replied.

"Dean. Give it to me."

For a few moments, Dean and Castiel had a silent stare-off, but Dean finally relented, saying, "All right, I guess."

He handed the necklace almost hesitantly to the angel, yanking it back at the last moment to warn, "Don't lose it."

Dean seemed uncomfortable when he'd finally relinquished the necklace, shrugging as he tugged on the edges of his coat and murmured, "Oh, great. Now I feel naked."

"I'll be in touch," Castiel laconically told them.

Tabitha felt the stirring of power that she knew to associate with Castiel arriving and disappearing, so before he could, she silently threw at him, _Wait! I need to talk to you. Alone._

He hesitated, but she feared he either hadn't heard her or was going to continue to ignore her, and then as the air whooshed and he disappeared, she heard his voice drift across her mind, _Outside_.

She shook herself from her stupor at him actually answering her after how he'd reacted to her in Bobby's room, but threw a quick excuse to her brothers about needing to catch some fresh air and jogged out of the room.

As she jogged down the hall, she heard Bobby call out to the angel, "When you find God, tell him to send legs!"

She looked around the hallways as she exited Bobby's room, but when she didn't spot the angel, quickly made for the nearest exit and walked out onto the grassy knoll dotted with a few modest trees and cheap park benches.

But she didn't spot the angel. Finally, she decided to sit on one of the benches and hope that Castiel still intended to show up and wasn't ditching her. Though from his reactions earlier, it wouldn't have surprised her.

"You wished to see me?" he asked as he appeared on the bench next to her.

Her breath hitched, but only slightly at his sudden appearance. "I think I'm getting more used to you popping in like that," she told him.

When he waited silently for her to continue, she sighed in exasperation, but did go on. "You're alive."

It wasn't what she had meant to say, but once she'd uttered it, she couldn't think of anything else.

"Yes, I am," was Castiel's only reply.

"That's it?! That's all you have to say?!" she demanded as she sprang to her feet, angered by his blasé response.

The look of utter bewilderment on Castiel's face brought her anger up short. "You don't even understand why I'm mad, do you?" she asked him in shock as her hands settled on her hips.

"No," he said as he shook his head, staring up at her and waiting for her explanation.

"You've been alive for _days_ , Cas, and you never said anything to me. Didn't send word or come see me to let me know you were okay. Nothing. I think I deserve more than that…" She trailed off as she angrily stabbed at the tears dribbling past her lashes. "I thought after what you said…that maybe there was _something_ between us."

Castiel's face closed off as he transformed into the impassive angel statue she so loathed, but he did stand to face her. "What I told you was true. All of it. Yet, I _am_ an angel. I'm not capable of the emotions you seek. And such things don't matter after the mess your brothers have created. I can't afford distractions. I _must_ find God."

Tabitha forced herself to harden as well, determined not to allow another tear to fall for this angel. "Distraction?" she repeated in a stark voice. "Screw you, Castiel." She looked away as she felt her mask of anger slip, hardening herself again before she looked back. "Don't you dare call me a distraction like I was just some trivial little thing, or like I was an annoying pest that forced you to do something against your will. You were with me every step of the way. And more than willing."

She hugged her arms around herself as Castiel continued his impassive stare, seeming unaffected by her words as she continued. "But I guess you _were_ right after all. Angels just aren't capable of emotion. You're not capable of any sort of feelings. Not like a human anyway. You might as well just be the freakin' statue you always seem to be imitating."

Castiel's face darkened a little as he told her, "I'm doing my duty—what I must to save this world. If Lucifer has his way…if the battle with Michael begins…every human on this planet will die. I can't allow your whims or the whims of your brothers to stop me from my goal."

"My whims?! All I wanted was to know you were still alive!" She clenched her jaw shut so tightly it began to hurt. "Screw you!" she ground out. "You wanna blame me and my brothers for what's happening, then fine, blame us. But we're trying to stop it, too. And don't forget the hand _your_ brothers had in helping to launch this mess. So let's don't start blaming each other's brothers here. What your brothers did was worse. They _knew_ what they were doing.

"And if you wanna run around the world looking for God, then be my guest. But don't you dare act all snide to me just because I wanted to know you were okay. It tore a hole in my heart to think you were dead, and the least courtesy you could have given me after everything was a call to say you were alive and okay. But I guess you just can't understand any of this, can you? I _know_ you can feel Cas, so don't give me that BS that angels have _no_ feelings. But you can sure be a cold and unfeeling bastard when you _want_ to. You have no idea what it's like to have a hole in your heart that was torn open because of the loss of someone you cared for. Someone who obviously didn't care back."

He gave her a hard, fathomless stare before he whispered, "I have no intention of finding out."

The angel disappeared before the words finished echoing in her ears.

She felt numb to the world as she walked away from the empty park bench, and wasn't even sure where she intended to go as she walked to the hospital parking lot. All she knew was she needed to get out of there. Somewhere. Anywhere.

There were a lot of things she needed though. Not the least of which was to snap out of whatever ridiculous notions she'd held about her and Castiel. Once more, she was left confounded as to where they stood, what they were to each other, and just what they were doing.

It was impossible for her to deny—at least to herself—that _she_ had somehow come to develop some kind of feelings for the angel. Perhaps he truly wasn't capable of the same for her though. And maybe it didn't matter.

But he'd been right about one thing: the Apocalypse was nigh, and that _had_ to take precedence. Her feelings…whatever they were…needed to be shoved aside.

"It's foolish anyway," she whispered to herself as she stopped beside the Impala. "We're just too different. He's an angel and I'm human. We had some fun, and that's that."

Her body sagged a little as she leaned down to brace her arms and head against the roof of the car, wondering to herself if she would ever really believe that. Maybe if she reminded herself enough times.

In the end, she realized it didn't matter if she believed it or not. She'd never been one to live in fantasies of what _could_ be. Life had taught her that more often than not, you had to live with the hand you were dealt, even if you didn't like it.

"Hey, glad we caught you before you left," Dean called out behind her.

More than anything, she wanted to remain with her head lying against the roof of the car, but she was no ostrich to bury her head in the sand, so she turned to face her brothers and whatever put the urgency in his voice head on.

"What's up?"

Sam looked worried as he explained, "Got a call from Rufus. Something's up in River Pass, Colorado. Couldn't catch most of what he said, but Bobby said what he heard sounded bad. Something about a lot of omens popping up there."

With a resigned sigh, Tabitha opened the back door of the Impala, crawling in as she tiredly replied, "Of course there is. What would the Apocalypse be without some fun times like that? Can't have End Times without fun times."

* * *

**River Pass, Colorado**

Tabitha followed her brothers' lead as they fanned out along the deserted street of what she was sure had once been a normal looking small town. It could now pass more for the scene of some horror/zombie movie flick.

"Keep your shotgun tight and at the ready," Dean warned her.

She sped up slightly to close the distance between her and Sam ahead of her, throwing an annoyed look over her shoulder at Dean. "I know what I'm doing."

When she drew even with Sam, he glanced down at her with a smirk as the two silently commiserated with each other about the pains of their protective older brother.

They sobered as they approached yet another abandoned car, the sight of the dark blood on the pavement outside the open driver's door drawing their attention.

Tabitha knelt to look at the blood and the baby stroller that was partially crushed under the front wheel. Thankfully, the stroller appeared to have been empty. She reached down to touch the blood with her fingertips, finding it tacky, but not dried. "This can't be too old," she told them from her crouched position with her shotgun braced across her knees. "It hasn't dried yet," she continued.

Her brothers started silently fanning out away from the car as she rose to her feet, but they'd only taken a few steps when all three of them heard a gun being cocked behind them.

They turned around together, and as Tabitha suspiciously demanded, "Who the hell are you?" Sam asked in disbelief, "Ellen?"

"Hello, boys," the dark haired older woman greeted. Her brown hair fell loose to her shoulders, and she was dressed in dark jeans and a black leather coat, but she wasn't familiar to Tabitha even though her brothers seemed to recognize the middle-aged woman, calling her by name.

Sam and Dean lowered their weapons, but Tabitha held hers braced against her arm and shoulder as she questioned them. "Who the hell is Ellen?"

The woman released the hammer her pistol and lowered her arm as she advanced on them, throwing Tabitha a clipped answer of, "Old friend."

Dean immediately jumped in. "Ellen, what the heck's going on here?"

His answer was a dosing of holy water to the face. Tabitha had begun to lower her aim a little when it appeared the woman really was a friend, but raised the gun again when the other woman took aim once more on Dean.

"You better step off, bitch," she warned the woman.

Her brother allowed the water to slide off his face for a moment before he stated the obvious. "We're us."

Ellen glanced at the barrel Tabitha had stuck inches from her face before finally lowering her pistol again. When Tabitha appeared reluctant to do so as well, Dean placed an arm on her forearm to push the barrel towards the ground.

"She's a friend, Tab. Ellen Harvelle. Used to run the Roadhouse. It was a hangout for hunters, I guess." He turned to Ellen to complete the introductions. "Ellen, this is our sister Tabitha." Tabitha nodded to herself, having at least heard of the woman from Rufus, Bobby, and a few other hunters over the years when she'd helped them with her FBI connections. The fiery—and ballsie—woman before her hadn't been quite the quiet barkeep she'd imagined over the years though.

Ellen nodded briskly to Tabitha. "I'd say 'nice to meet another of John's kids,' but the circumstances really aren't that nice."

Without another word, the dark haired woman strode past Tabitha and between her brothers, making her way towards a small church as her brothers readily followed. Tabitha fell in step with Sam as she lowly asked him, "You're sure she's okay?"

He nodded, though he grimly admitted, "Yeah, she's a friend. Just not sure what she's doing out here hunting."

As they entered the nearby church over a salt line and through a Devil's Trap, Ellen seemed to finally let down the guard she'd been holding up. With a shaky exhale, she greeted them with, "Real glad to see you boys," grabbing Dean to hug him as she spoke.

She pushed back from him and gave him a once over before pulling her hand back and slapping him across the cheek. "The can of whup ass I ought to open on you," she lectured in cross tones. "You can't pick up a phone? What are you—allergic to giving me peace of mind?" she railed. She looked around Dean at his sister and continued, "Didn't _you_ at least ever teach them any better manners? I'd smack you, too, for not calling, but you get off with just a warning since we haven't met yet. But you darn well better keep them in line and keep me informed about what's going on from now on."

Tabitha was stupefied into muttering an apologetic, "Yes, ma'am."

But Ellen wasn't finished, hardly acknowledging Tabitha's response as she turned back to Dean. "And what the hell are you doing dragging your sister back into these kinds of messes. Wasn't she working a real job with the Feds or something? How'd you let her get drawn back into this shit? And why did I have to find out that you're alive from Rufus?!"

"Sorry, Ellen," Dean apologized when she finally took a breath from lecturing him.

"Yeah, you better be. You better put me on speed dial, kid," she looked around to encompass all three of them as she added, "All of you."

"Yes, ma'am," they intoned together.

Ellen seemed to finally have run out of steam, nodding to them before turning to lead them further towards the basement of the church as if she hadn't just cornered and lectured the three of them like naughty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Dean looked over his shoulder with a slightly bewildered expression as Sam and Tabitha shrugged in return.

"I think I'm slightly terrified of that woman," she whispered to her brothers. "And kinda impressed as hell, too. Scary combination," she added with a chuckle. There weren't many people that could put even one of them back on their heels like that, let alone all three of them.

" _Oh_ , she's terrifying," Dean agreed in a tone that he'd meant to be sarcastic, but she had the feeling hit a bit closer to the truth.

Dean looked ahead towards their guide as he asked her, "What's going on, Ellen?"

She glanced over her shoulder, admitting, "More than I can handle alone."

"How many demons are there?" Sam wanted to know.

"Pretty much—whole town, minus the dead people and these guys," Ellen answered with a careless gesture towards a closed door in the basement. She stopped suddenly at the closed door, turning towards them to hesitantly ask, "So…this is it, right? End Times?"

The Winchesters shared an apprehensive look.

"It's got to be," Ellen continued, seeming a little more certain.

Afraid that her brothers might lie to the woman she was coming to quickly like—and feeling the need to stick up for another tough-as-nails woman—Tabitha quietly confided, "It sure looks that way."

Ellen jerked her chin down once, and briskly turned to rap her knuckles on the closed door. "It's me," she announced.

A crude peephole was uncovered briefly before the door swung open. A well-built man with a closely trimmed beard opened the door, a rifle tucked close to his body and carried in a manner that screamed ex-military to Tabitha. While the man at the door gave Tabitha a brief ray of hope, a sweep of the room quickly took it away. Filling the basement was a small and motley crew of scared people, including a pregnant woman, an old gray-bearded man, and even the preacher.

"This is Sam, Dean, and Tabitha—they're hunters. Here to help," Ellen announced to the frightened gathering.

The guy with the military vibe looked Tabitha up and down with a doubtful eye as he asked, "You three are hip to this whole demon thing?"

Tabitha returned the favor of assessing him with a critical eye. "Yeah, we're _hip_ to a lot of things. Question is, are you?"

A middle-aged man spoke up from the table, fidgeting with his hands in an almost nervous manner as he said, "My wife's eyes turned black. She came at me with a brick. Kind of makes you embrace the paranormal."

Dean's eyes lingered thoughtfully on the group, but then he dismissed them and turned to Ellen to say, "All right, catch us up."

Ellen gave a weary sigh. "I doubt I know much more than _you_. Rufus called—said he was in town investigating omens. All of a sudden, the whole _town_ was possessed. Me and Jo were nearby—"

"You're hunting with Jo?" Dean broke in, clearly surprised by that piece of news.

With a little nod, Ellen informed them, "Yeah, for a while now. We got here, and the place—well, the place was like you see it. Couldn't find Rufus. Then me and Jo got separated. I was out looking when I found you."

Tabitha leaned closer to Sam to whisper, "Who the hell is Jo?"

"Ellen's daughter," he whispered back.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at his siblings, adding to Sam's explanation. "Jo's father was a hunter. Hunted once with Dad." He glanced at Ellen with trepidation as he finished. "It didn't end well. Jo's been wanting to hunt, but Ellen had been keeping her out of it."

There was a bone-weary look in Ellen's eyes when she confided, "I got tired of trying to chase her down and bring her back. Finally had to accept that I wasn't going to be able to keep her out of it. But if she's gonna be out there, I'm gonna be with her."

The woman was tough, and obviously used to playing up her rough exterior, but all three of the siblings could still hear the worry in her voice for her daughter.

"Don't worry. We'll find her," Dean promised.

"Either way," Sam interjected, "these people cannot just sit here. We got to get them out _now_."

Ellen immediately shot the idea down. "No, it's not that easy. I've been trying. We already made a run for it once."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"There used to be 20 of us."

The Winchesters looked quickly around the room, noting that their numbers had been more than halved.

Dean tried to keep upbeat. "Well, there's four of _us_ now."

"You don't know what it's like out there. Demons are everywhere. We won't be able to cover everybody."

"What if we get everyone guns?" Sam asked.

"What—are you gonna arm up baby bump over here?" Dean demanded jerking a nod at the pregnant woman who cringed away in fear.

Sam nodded. "More salt we can fire at once, more demons we can keep away."

"Nothing more dangerous than a mother—even a mother-to-be—anyway," Tabitha agreed with her younger brother.

Dean glanced dubiously around the room, but obviously had no better plan. He dropped his gear bag as he spoke. "There's a sporting-goods store we passed on main on the way in. I bet they got guns."

Sam cleared his throat as he advised Ellen, "All right. You stay. We'll go."

The woman immediately protested. "What about—"

Sam quickly headed her off. "If Jo and Rufus are out there, we'll bring them back."

The boys started out of the basement, but Dean turned back to push Tabitha towards Ellen. "You should stay here and help Ellen get these people ready."

"The hell I am," she instantly denied. "You're not putting me on the bench. I'm just as capable as you two."

White lines appeared in Dean's cheeks as he clenched his jaw, but he managed to softly tell her, "Jo's already missing. I don't want something happening to you, too. Stay here and stay safe. Just for now."

Tabitha glanced back at Ellen, seeing the woman watching with an eye of interest. But Dean's wording told Tabitha a lot about Dean's feelings towards Ellen's daughter. There was definitely something there. Whether it was just brotherly protective feelings that lumped Jo together with her, or something more, Tabitha wasn't sure. But just because his protective hackles were up, didn't mean she was letting the two of them leave her behind.

"You're going after supplies _and_ looking for two missing people. If all three of us go, we can carry more supplies and keep more eyes out for Jo and Rufus. I'll be fine, Dean."

Her brother turned on his heel and stomped out of the basement, muttering, "Stubborn…mouthy…little…" His voice faded away until she couldn't catch more.

"Had a feeling I'd like you," Ellen drawled beside her with a little smile. "Those boys could use a female presence in their lives that doesn't just sit back and listen just because they smile charmingly and tell a girl to do something."

Tabitha let out a little chuckle. "That how you really feel about your daughter not listening to you and hunting anyway?"

The woman's grin split even wider. "'Course not. If you were my daughter and sassed me like that, I'd tan your hide. And it'd probably be just as effective as it is with Jo."

She made two steps towards the door before Ellen's hand reached out to stop her. The woman's grin had disappeared behind the mask of a worried mother as Ellen asked, "Please bring Jo back to me. If you can."

"We'll do our best," Tabitha promised.

Her brothers were still arguing about who should go and who should stay when Tabitha caught up with them. Both were arguing that the other should stay back with her.

It soon became apparent that Dean's reasoning was wanting to keep her safe, as well as not quite trusting Sam. Sam however seemed to be feeling the need to go alone to do some penance, as well as seeming somehow nervous about Tabitha going.

Brushing by her brothers, Tabitha jogged up the stairs, reminding them, "Supplies aren't going to get themselves, and the longer you two stand around arguing, the longer those demons have to figure out some kind of plan to get in here."

She was on the street by the time her brothers caught up. Dean was silent, and even Sam seemed to be keeping a healthy distance from her. It seemed strange, but she shrugged it off and continued scanning around for any movement.

As she crossed the street near Sam, she noticed the slightest way he stiffened as she drew close. "What's your problem?" she whispered to him.

"When are you finally gonna tell Dean what's going on with you?" he snapped in an angry whisper.

She was surprised by the anger in his voice. "Why are you riding me so hard about this, Sam? We're kinda in the middle of something here, so now's not the time."

"He needs to know what's going on," Sam continued as he nervously edged away from her.

That's when she finally caught the fear in the way he had been avoiding her eyes and discreetly putting distance between them. As soon as they'd come into town, he'd been keeping her at arm's length or more, but she hadn't noticed it—or the reason for it—until now.

Her feet ground to a halt as she asked in shock, "You're afraid to be near me, aren't you? The mention of demons, and now you're afraid to get too close to me. You think you might…" But she couldn't finish the thought.

Sam closed his eyes as a grim expression settled over him. "I could have killed you, Tab. I just think you need to be careful. And it would help if Dean knew what was going on."

Her head tilted back to stare at the sky when she realized her selfishness. She hadn't wanted to tell Dean because of the reaction she knew he'd have, but she hadn't realized that she was putting more pressure on Sam by keeping Dean out of the loop. Hadn't seen how worried he was that he might hurt her again, and that he wanted Dean to be able to help stop him if he did.

She deliberately walked up to Sam and placed her hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze as she told him, "I still trust you, Sammy. No matter what happened. It'll be okay. _You'll_ be okay." She jerked her head forward to indicate for them to keep moving. But she acquiesced as they continued. "As soon as this case is over, I'll tell Dean about it. But you don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

"You don't know that," he woodenly replied.

They caught up with Dean as they neared a convenience store, but Sam didn't seem to have settled any at Tabitha's attempted reassurances. Instead, he seemed even stiffer as he held his shotgun higher and strode ahead of Dean, telling him, "I'll get the salt. You guys get the guns."

"We'll go together," Dean corrected.

"Dean, it's right there. Can we at least do this like professionals?"

Having no other choice, Dean and Tabitha continued on when Sam broke off alone in the direction of the convenience store.

As the sporting-goods store came into sight, Dean finally spoke to his sister. "Do you think we've got a snowball's chance of getting those people out of here?"

She didn't look at him as she answered, instead continuing to scan the streets and buildings lining them for any threats, her shotgun still tucked close and lowered slightly towards the ground. "I don't know," she admitted. "Feels wrong to even think about trying to take civilians out through a hostile area. Armed forces are all trained to have civilians lockdown in a secure area, and then call in for backup to take out any hostiles before anyone even considers moving untrained civilians. But the things that usually apply for the 'normal' world, almost never work the same when dealing with this stuff."

"It's going to be dangerous," he grimly reminded her, seeming to still regret not forcing her to stay back with Ellen. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed seeing him try.

"Since when is it not?" she laughed bitterly. "Never expected Armageddon to be safe, Dean. We've just got to power through it and hope that we can get as many of us through it alive as we can."

"Like Castiel?"

She faltered at that, glancing at her brother with a frown as she asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I'm just trying to figure out the deal there. You would never say much about any of the angels for the longest time, I guess hiding that you could hear them," he bitterly pointed out. "And then you seemed to absolutely hate the mention of all angels—remember your little drunken spat where you cussed out all angels and _me_ for agreeing to serve them or whatever. But then Cas dies and you go all catatonic. Now he's back, and he seems annoyed with you every time you get near him. You piss him off or something? Or did he piss _you_ off? You hardly spoke the whole drive here."

Tabitha started forward again, forcing Dean to hurry to catch up with her. "I guess it's just taking me a while to really understand that angels aren't like humans, Dean. I thought Cas was a friend, but I'm starting to realize that angels act very differently from humans. And we can't rely on them like we can each other," she told her brother, an edge of warning in her tone.

Under his breath he replied, "I'm not so sure about that."

Fed up with his continued distrust and disapproval of Sam, she started past the sporting-goods store.

"Where you going?" he demanded, sounding miffed now with her.

"You can grab guns yourself, can't you? They're the shiny metal things. Usually behind the big glass cases," she pointed out in a caustic tone. "You grab the guns; I'll scout ahead a bit and see if I can't spot anything or anyone that might lead to Jo and Rufus."

"Dammit," Dean grumbled to himself. "Fine. Do whatever you want. You will anyway. But don't go far."

"I'm well trained, Dean. I'll be fine."

"Training don't mean much if you get ambushed or you're outnumbered," he reminded her.

"I'll just scout the perimeter while you're inside," she relented.

"Be careful."

"You, too."

She was true to her word, and was cautious as she rounded the side streets around the brick building.

But even the best trained scout can't see everything, nor can they see around corners. Tabitha had just peeked around the corner into the back alley when a rifle butt jutted out towards her face. Her body was still against the building, so she rolled back around the corner, letting the rifle butt skim past her face.

Even the butt of a rifle skimming across your face stings and momentarily shocks a person, though. Pain burst behind Tabitha's cheek as she automatically yanked her shotgun into position, aiming it towards the corner she was backing away from so she had room to aim.

She never even saw the attacker slide up behind her or the blow that landed to the back of her head, making a burst of light explode behind her eyes.

* * *

When she woke up, her head was throbbing and her eyes were unfocused. But with a little effort, Tabitha managed to raise her head and glance around at her surroundings. There wasn't much to see. It appeared that she was tied to a chair in the utility room of a basement. At least she assumed it was a basement from the cooler air and slightly musty smell that basements often acquired over time.

As much as she wiggled and pulled on her bindings though, she couldn't slip her hands or feet from the ropes that tied her to the old wooden chair.

"You're not going anywhere. I tied those knots myself," a deep voice proclaimed from behind her.

Her head swiveled to take in the sight of the dark-skinned man that went along with the voice she knew belonged to Rufus.

"What the hell, Rufus?" she demanded in surprise. "It's me! Tabitha Winchester. What the hell are you doing tying me up in a basement? I had no idea that was how you rolled," she nervously joked with the older man.

Rufus circled around her, pulling his hand back and cuffing her with the back of his hand. "Watch your mouth, you evil piece of scum."

Her vision swam for a moment before she managed to shake it away and look up into Rufus's eyes again. "I'm really not into the whole bondage thing, Rufus. And _really_ not into being hit. So do me a favor, and _untie me now!_ Before I forget that we're actually friends."

A girl she hadn't seen yet came around into her field of vision, tossing water into her face before she had much of a chance to look the newcomer over.

Tabitha waited for the water to slip away before looking up at the blond girl who appeared to be a little younger than Tabitha was. A woman for all that counted, but still a bit of innocence in her eyes. "Not sure who the hell you are, but if you're with Rufus, I'm gonna go ahead and hope you're the Jo I was looking for. And while I'm glad to have completed that little task of finding you two, I can definitely say that we're not going to be best buds if you continue to throw water in my face."

Jo looked up at Rufus in confusion. "How could it possibly know who I am? You said you knew her, but it can't have figured out who I am from her."

"What?" Tabitha questioned, confused by anything the girl was saying. She looked back to Rufus, who she at least knew from talking with him on the phone many times and _had_ previously counted as a friend. "Come on, Rufus. It's me. If you think I'm a demon, I can assure you, I'm not."

Rufus stared at her, almost as if he _wanted_ to believe her, but just couldn't quite get there.

"Look, holy water did nothing, right?" she pointed out. "What about this: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters." She waited for their shock to sink in a little. "See? Do you need me to go on, say the whole damn psalm? Or are you convinced that I'm me and not a demon?"

Rufus and Jo turned their backs to her as they whispered to each other. "This is one strong ass demon," Rufus warned the girl. "I'm not sure what will work on it."

"We could try the salt, too," Jo pointed out.

"Bitch, you pour salt on me, and we're really gonna have problems. I already have problems with dry skin," Tabitha growled at their backs, wondering to herself if that was what all hunters looked like to a demon when they turned their backs to discuss something. Did they all talk that loud? If so, it wasn't exactly an intimidating show for the demon.

"I've got more salt upstairs," Jo suggested as they ignored her. "It's worth a shot."

They left together, still ignoring her and leaving Tabitha completely amazed at how they could have possibly been so sure that she was really a demon. But somehow, they truly seemed convinced of it.

Tabitha began looking around the room, absently noting the familiar Devil's Trap drawn in white chalk on the ceiling above her head. She knew she couldn't wait around for the pair to come back and discover that salt didn't work on her, either. It wasn't the salt that she feared, but what other creative steps they might decide to take when the salt didn't get the results they were expecting from a demon.

"There's no way out of here."

Tabitha froze as she looked up to see a familiar face strolling into the small room she was held in. "You!" she uttered in shock. "I saw you back at that church with Ellen's group. How the hell did you get here?" And why the hell wasn't _he_ tied up if they were so suspicious that anyone might be a demon?

The man gave her a self-satisfied grin as he bowed theatrically. "Right you are. Don't miss much, do you?"

"Who do they think you are?" she asked, realizing that he had to be somehow mixed up in or the very cause of the entire mess going on.

His grin widened. "You can call me Roger."

"Is there a _real_ Roger out there?"

He chuckled as he strolled around in front of her chair, dragging another wooden chair from a corner and setting it in front of her. "They just brought your brother in. Did you know that? The tall dopey looking one," he taunted. "Wasn't hard to stir them up of course. Ever protective of their sister, those two are. Of course, the tall one, Sam, he mostly feels guilty that you wandered off alone. Thinks it's his fault. What do you think?"

She raised her chin and replied, "I think you can go to Hell."

He shrugged. "Not so bad a place, really. Especially what with the proprietor finally up and about again." He braced his hands on his knees as he leaned forward to tell her, "And he'll be happy to see you. I've been wondering what to get him. You know—as a little thank you for getting this show on the road so I can see my brothers and reunite with them. But then you dropped into my lap, and I realized you'd be just the perfect gift. I happen to know he'd love to get his hands on you."

Tabitha fought the sudden shudder that tore through her, but "Roger" still spotted it.

"You'd be dumb if you weren't afraid. But don't worry. I hear his orders are to take you alive."

Finally finding her voice, Tabitha managed to ask in a voice devoid of emotion, "I thought the demons wanted me dead. What's changed?"

He laughed and gave her an indulgent smile as he fiddled with the ring on his hand. "Oh, the demons may think it's safer to tear you to shreds so no one can use you, but I'm guessing that Lucifer knows what an asset you'd actually be. You should be thankful I'm sending you to him instead of leaving you out there anyway. From what I hear, you've got quite the price on your head from both sides. Most of the demons would like to kill you in a misguided attempt to protect their big daddy, but I hear a bunch of the angels want you even worse." He made a rolling gesture with his hand as he continued. "To kill that is. They'd like to see you ripped to shreds and spread out throughout the universe."

"What about you?" she pushed out, amazed that her voice kept from shaking. "Or these mysterious brothers of yours? What side do you fall on?"

"Me?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over his other knee. "Well, me and my brothers don't really buy into the hype. But like I said. I owe Lucifer one for allowing me to be reunited with my brothers, so I'm willing to gift-wrap you for him. He'd probably like you better than a toaster anyway."

She knew she needed to keep him talking. Whoever—and whatever he was—he seemed chatty, and she could use that to milk him of all the useful info she could for when she finally escaped. _If_ she escaped.

"Brothers? Who are they?"

He held up three fingers. "Well, I've got three of them. And when we finally hook up, we're gonna have such a blast. This—" he spread his arms out to encompass his surroundings, "—this mass slaughter is gonna seem like child's play when we combine _all_ of our unique forces."

His wording finally rang a bell in her mind. _Mass slaughter. Three brothers. Apocalypse._

She shook her head in disbelief, wondering what else was going to become real because of the Apocalypse. Would the Easter Bunny become more than just the harbinger of crazed children on candy highs?

"War," she whispered to herself.

"What is it good for?" he laughed as she began to understand.

"You know, you're just exactly the kind self-involved, conceited ass I might have expected to be War," she snapped in return at his pleased laughter.

He stood, twisting the ring on his finger again as he told her, "Well, I should really go check on that brother of yours. But don't worry. I'm sure your friends will be back here shortly."

Tabitha renewed her efforts to struggle free as soon as he sauntered away. Things were so much worse than she had thought. This wasn't just a town full of demons; War was obviously turning people against each other just for kicks, and sitting back to watch the carnage. She was beginning to realize that there probably weren't _any_ demons at all in town. Just scared people killing each other. Which was somehow more terrifying.

She couldn't know for sure that they had caught Sam as well, but she couldn't risk that the horseman actually _was_ telling the truth. One way or another, she needed to break free and try to help her little brother.

"Easier said than done," she grumbled to herself. The ropes wouldn't budge. Had they been just a bit looser, she might have been able to finagle a hand free. She had small hands and knew a little something about using them to slip a knot. But Rufus also knew a little something about tying them.

More than an hour passed as she continued to struggle. She thought she could hear Sam shouting from somewhere upstairs, but being in the basement muffled things so badly that she couldn't say for sure who she had heard or if it was just her fear and imagination messing with her.

Finally, she gave a violent jerk on her arm, tipping the chair a bit sideways in the process. After glancing down, she realized her chair wasn't bolted to the floor. Not that the revelation helped much. Even if she could scoot the chair to a wall, there was nothing she would be able to reach to use as a weapon.

Desperation gave rise to great ideas. As well as a few stupid but necessary ones.

Seeing no other choice, she rocked her weight to her left, and then heaved her body to the right. The chair tilted, and then balanced precariously on two legs before beginning its descent to the concrete floor.

Her hand she managed to slide around to the inside of the arm of the chair, but there was nothing she could do to avoid her shoulder taking the brunt of her impact. But the chair took a large portion of it as well, and the creak and splintering of wood more than made up for the painful throbbing of her shoulder.

She listened carefully to see if anyone had heard the crash, but no footsteps sounded down the stairs. So she set to the task of prying on the loose arm of the wooden chair until the carved wood popped free at the joint, allowing her to slip her hand free and untie herself.

By the time she'd crept upstairs, it was unsettlingly quiet. The voices of Rufus and Jo brought her to a living room where they seemed to be planting homemade pipe bombs rigged to the windows.

Shaking her head, she silently turned to continue searching the house. She couldn't leave until she either found Sam, or had proven to herself that he wasn't there. After clearing the main floor, she continued on to the upper level.

"Sam?" she quietly called when she found a hunched over figure tied to a chair just like she had been only ten minutes before.

"Tab?!" he called out in surprise as his head jerked up. "You're alive!"

"Shh!" she shushed him as she crouched in front of him to pull at his bindings. "Of course I'm all right. You boys should have more faith in me. I was just having a little conversation with Rufus and his little bitch about proper manners when having guests over. Bondage is so last year. But I think he's a little rusty on social interactions since he hadn't left his house for so many years."

Sam seemed to ignore her babbling, appearing more grateful about being untied than annoyed by her nervous babble. "You mean Jo?" At her nod, he reproachfully told her, "She's not so bad. It's not Jo or Rufus's fault. They think we're demons. It Roger doing it. He's—"

"War. I know," she interrupted. "He and I already had a little chat."

Tabitha freed one of Sam's hands, and moved on to the other, knowing she'd make quicker work of the ropes than he could with one hand.

"You're hurt. You're bleeding, Tab," Sam told her, his voice low and tight.

She glanced up from where she'd leaned over him, startled by the strange hitch in his voice.

"What—"

Before she could get the question out, a small explosion shook the house, throwing her against Sam's chest as she lost her footing. Her brother steadied her by her left shoulder with his free hand. She winched at the pain the fall had caused her right shoulder, but knew from experience that although it was painful as hell, nothing was broken.

When the last rope was finally untied, she backed up to give her brother room to stand, but was halted by his arm still gripping her left shoulder and holding her close.

Warning bells went off as she finally registered his deep, labored breathing as he tried to control himself.

"Easy, Sam," she gently told him, reaching up to try uncurling his fingers from her upper arm. They only dug in harder. "Sam. It's me. It's Tabby. You need to dig down deep and find your control. Because you don't really want to hurt me again."

Her brother suddenly snatched his hand back, scrambling up from the chair as he backed away.

Tabitha chose to pretend nothing had happened, because he _had_ found his control. And nothing had really occurred. "We need to find some weapons and skin out of here while they're confused by that blast. I'm not sure how to stop all this, but I'd say killing War seems like a great first step."

"Yeah, but how?" Sam asked, still breathing deeply through his nose and looking anywhere but at his sister.

"We'll figure it out."

When she heard shouting outside, she stepped to the window to look out on the street, seeing the ex-military looking guy leading the group from the church towards the house they were in. "Where the hell is Dean?" she wondered when she saw the group.

Before an answer came, a barrage of bullets arrived, peppering the side of the house as Sam yanked Tabitha back from the window. And right back into their former predicament. Only worse than before.

Sam's arms clamped around her like iron bands, holding her arms against her sides. Fear finally crept over Tabitha as Sam leaned down to inhale the blood still trickling through her hair from the wound to the back of her head.

"Sam? Sammy?! It's me. You've got to let go of me," she told him in a shaky voice.

Dean's shout was a welcome relief. "Sam! What the hell are you doing?! Let Tabitha go."

She scrambled away when Sam's arms released her, turning to see that Dean had slammed their brother against the wall with his forearm braced across Sam's throat.

That her younger brother didn't fight Dean allowed him to collect himself and cautiously release Sam. But Tabitha knew now wasn't the time for explanations, though it had nearly disastrously been proven that she owed Dean one.

"We've got to kill Roger. He's—"

"War. I know," Dean finished. "Was he what caused this?" he asked, gesturing back and forth between her and Sam.

"Now isn't the time," she hedged. "We need to figure out how to kill a horseman. Pronto."

"The ring," Sam whispered, staring at the floor. "That's got to be how he's controlling people."

"The ring. The ring—that's right. He turned it right before he made everybody hallucinate and go hellbitch," Dean remembered.

"Right," Sam agreed.

"Well, if we're all on the same page, let's go stake his ass or something," Tabitha eagerly suggested, peeking out through the window and jerking back when more bullets struck the side of the house. "Because people are going nuts down there."

"Let's move," Dean ordered, ushering his siblings out of the room. Tabitha hung back a little though, letting Dean go first and keeping him between her and Sam. She kept telling herself that she wasn't frightened of her brother, but she knew caution and fear was a fine line that was sometimes hard to define.

Tabitha paused inside the house as her brothers hit the main floor and made to exit, yelling at them, "You guys go after War. I'll stay to help Rufus hold things down here." When Dean hesitated, she shouted, "Go! There's no time to stand around arguing!"

Sam glanced back to finally meet her eyes, softly telling her, "I'm sorry, Tab. But this was why I wanted Dean to know. It's too dangerous."

"What?" Dean demanded as he stared between his siblings in confusion.

Shaking her head, she ordered again, "Go! Talk later!"

Pointing a commanding finger at her, Dean ordered, "You damn well better be okay when we get back. Or I'm dragging your ghost back up and kickin' your ass."

"You say the sweetest things!" she shouted over the increasing noise of gunfire.

Rufus and Tabitha nearly collided as he strode back into the house from the porch, a rifle in his hands.

He stared at her for a moment before dryly observing, "So, you're really you? You're really Tabitha Winchester?"

"In the flesh," she confirmed. "I tried to tell you guys before."

He nodded and thrust the rifle into her hands. "Then I expect you know how to use this. Try to stop what you can. Non-lethal if possible. And keep your damn head down. No sense getting it blown off now that I've finally met you in person."

She accepted the rifle and eased over to the open door to the porch. With a glance back, she told Rufus, "You keep your head down, too. You're not half bad when you're not trying to keep me tied up in a basement."

A pained noise caught her attention, and she saw the preacher from the church fall to the ground outside as he was shot from someone in an upper level of the house.

"Someone still isn't getting the memo to _stop shooting_!" Rufus bellowed.

Tabitha nodded in understanding. "You go hand-deliver the memo, I'll see if I can't help get the padre out of the line of fire."

Ellen and a dark-skinned girl had already reached the preacher when Tabitha made her way to them from the cover of the house. Ellen was calmly applying pressure to the man's wound while trying to convince the frightened girl that she wasn't as harmful as the hallucinations apparently suggested.

"You got him, Ellen?" Tabitha asked as she kept herself turned away from the trio, looking around for possible threats.

"Yeah, we've got him," Ellen confirmed behind her. "Glad to see you're still alive and well. Those boys were fit to be tied when they had to come back without you."

She smiled a little, somehow glad to know that they'd been upset about her disappearing. "Oh, you know them," she lightly laughed. "Get upset anytime I step out of sight even to fix my hair or something. You'd think I get kidnapped every time they're not watching me."

She'd barely finished her teasing jest when she heard the light footsteps of someone fast approaching. Hands grabbed at her shoulders to spin her around, but she was prepared for the attack from behind this time, stepping back into her attacker and thrusting her head backwards into the attacker's face.

Between the pain to her already injured head, and the obvious skill of her attacker, the two found themselves still evenly matched. As Tabitha turned to pull the sight of the rifle to her eye-line, ex-military-buff mirrored her motion, looking down the scope of his high-powered rifle as they squared off with their barrels only a foot from the face of each other. His eyes were dark as pitch, but Tabitha looked away from his eyes, knowing that it wasn't real, and needing to convince him that anything he was seeing wasn't real either.

"You're fast," she complimented him, hoping to catch him off-guard. "And you handle that thing like a man that knows his way around an M16 rifle. I'm impressed."

"Shut up, demon," he barked at her.

But she ignored his order and continued speaking in a soothing tone. "We're at a stand-off here, and neither of us wants to end up dead, so why don't we both put down our rifles. I can tell you're a military man. You don't want to hurt someone who doesn't deserve it any more than I do."

His eyes narrowed as he suddenly pulled the trigger. Tabitha felt her heart stop for an uncounted time that day when the pin clicked down on an empty chamber.

Moving before he could, she changed the grip on her rifle and twisted the butt towards the man's face, clipping him across the cheek as he dropped his empty rifle. But he caught her off guard as well, latching onto the barrel and twisting the front of the rifle back towards her to shove her off balance. She stumbled as he rushed her, falling to the ground underneath him as he yanked a knife free and swung it down towards her torso.

Crossing her arms over her body, she caught his arm in the V created by her crossed wrists, blocking his stab at her chest.

Before he could attempt another assault, he was launched sideways as something connected with the side of his head.

Tabitha let her head fall back in relief at the sight of Ellen standing over her with the dropped rifle in her hands.

"You really have a way with the men," Ellen laughed.

"What can I say," Tabitha darkly chuckled, "I just can't fend them all off."

Ellen reached down to offer her hand, pulling Tabitha to her feet. "You're all right," Ellen laughed.

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment coming from you."

The two women looked around at the sudden silence that filled the air.

"Think those two boys actually did it?" Ellen hesitantly asked.

"If they didn't, I'd hate to think that this is the calm before the storm."

* * *

Dean had demanded a little sit down before they left town like most of the rest of the remaining citizens was currently doing. Not that Tabitha could blame occupants. There were a lot of unexplained and unexplainable things that happened in that town for normal people to be comfortable hanging around.

Even Rufus, Ellen, and Jo had already made tracks for parts undisclosed, and Tabitha was ready to do the same. All she wanted was to put River Pass, Colorado in the rearview mirror and pretend that her multiple near hits with death hadn't actually occurred. And more importantly, that several of them had nearly been at the hands of her younger brother.

"We seem to have a lot to discuss," Dean wearily told them as they sat around an old picnic table. "You two want to start with what was going on when I arrived back there? Or what the hell you two were talking about that I apparently am the last to know about?"

Unfairly, Tabitha looked to her younger brother for help, but he stared steadfastly at the top of the picnic table.

"I think I finally know, at least partially, what that demon was marking me with after they grabbed me," she finally admitted, staring down at her hands as she nervously wrung them on the tabletop.

"Wait… _what_?" Dean stuttered. "You talkin' 'bout back in Virginia when you said that demon was trying to like, brand you or something?" She nodded. "What's that got to do with this?"

She swallowed hard as her legs nervously began to bounce under the table and her fingers began studiously picking at the dried and flaking stain covering the old wood under her fingertips. "I think there was demon blood in it," she whispered.

Several silent minutes passed as she waited for it to sink into Dean's mind and for him to puzzle all the pieces together.

"So Sam smelled it in your blood?" he whispered in a low voice.

Not able to stand the suspense, she finally risked a glance up, only to see Dean's face blank and impassive as he stared at the top of the table, just as she and Sam were.

"How long you been keeping _this_ to yourself?" he asked in a too quiet and flat voice.

More fearful of the flat, emotionless voice than if Dean had blown up and yelled, Tabitha admitted, "I've been wondering for a few months now, I guess. But Sam's reactions kinda cemented it."

"So you've known for sure since the last time he attacked you—knew how dangerous it was—and decided just to keep it to yourself and not tell anyone who could help keep you both safe? You _both_ decided not to tell me that it's pretty freakin' dangerous for the two of you to even be left alone together?!"

Sam winced, but didn't point out that it wasn't his idea, that _he'd_ actually been pushing her to talk.

"Sam told me to tell you," she jumped to defend her little brother. "I told him I wanted to wait for the right time. There's been kinda a lot going on. Lucifer rising. Apocalypse. Horsemen popping up."

Dean pulled out the ring he and Sam had cut off of War's finger, holding it up in the air as he looked at it and laughed bitterly. "So, pit stop on Mount Doom?" he asked, effectively changing the subject.

Sam finally broke his silence. "Dean—"

"Sam, let's not," Dean broke in. "I've had enough of the two of you today."

"No, listen. This is important," Sam insisted. "I know you don't trust me. Either of you. And you're both right not to. You especially, Tabitha," he continued, glancing up at his sister who couldn't help but wince at even the small reminder of what had happened.

He continued in a hesitant voice. "Just…now I realize something. _I_ don't trust me either. From the minute I saw that blood in the convenience store, and then smelled your blood, Tab, only thought in my head… And I tell myself it's for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it—it feels true, you know? But I think, underneath…I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. I attacked my own sister. _Twice_. Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood—not really. I mean, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby or…anything. The problem's _me_. How far I'll go. There's something in me that…scares the hell out of me, guys. And the last couple of days, I caught another glimpse. And I _can't_ risk being a danger to my own sister. My own family."

"So what are you saying?" Dean softly asked.

Sam swallowed hard before telling his siblings, "I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just…go our separate ways."

Tabitha waited for Dean to shoot Sam down, but somehow wasn't that surprised when he responded, "Well, I think you're right."

Her arms wrapped around herself as she looked over at Dean sitting down the bench from her, and watched as Sam struggled with himself to reply, "I was expecting a fight."

"Truth is, I spend more time worrying about the two of you," he harshly explained, "than about doing the job right. I just can't afford that, you know? Not now."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'm so sorry, Tab."

"I know you are, Sam."

Tabitha silently turned around on the bench, refusing to watch her little brother brokenly walk away. Alone. And hated herself for not trying to stop him. Hated herself even more for the relief that coursed through her at his departure. She loved her brothers more than anything, but she wasn't sure how to reconcile her love for them with the fear that still burned brightly when she thought about how easily Sam had snapped when he smelled her blood.

When had things fallen apart so badly? The friend and angel she'd once thought she could always count on had let her down too many times, and then pushed her away. And now the brothers she'd fought so hard to hold together, were splitting up.

And she was doing nothing to stop any of it.

"Hey," she heard Dean call to Sam, generously offering, "you, uh…want to take the Impala?"

"That's okay." He stepped further away. "Take care of yourselves, guys."

"Yeah, you too, Sammy."

Tabitha swallowed around the lump in her throat, rasping out, "Be safe, Sammy." Every word felt traitorous as they passed her lips. Only adding to the guilt she felt in not only letting her brother walk away, but in being relieved that he did.

Several minutes later, she lurched to her feet, telling her remaining brother, "I'm leaving, too. I can't stay. Not with things the way they are and the way they have been. It's wrong. That we let him walk away like that." She glanced over to where Dean still sat contemplating the beer can in his hands. "How did this family get so broken again? It's like it was before when we were all still together with Dad. Only worse. I think I need some time to get myself together, too."

"I think that's a good idea," he told her in the same flat voice he'd used with Sam. He finally turned to glance up at her. "Where will you go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'll figure something out."

When Dean didn't respond, she nodded almost to herself, telling him, "Take care."

"You, too," he told her as she made her way to the Impala to get her bags.

For three days, she hitchhiked and rode two greyhound buses to reach her end destination.

But when she finally stood on those steps at long last, she wasn't sure if she could bring herself to actually press the doorbell. Pushing away the apprehension, she raised her hand to jab at the buzzer, hoping her sudden appearance wasn't coming at a bad time.

She looked shyly down when the door swung open, her stomach tying itself into knots of uncertainty as she rushed to explain, "I really hate to impose, but I was hoping I could stay here for a few days…or weeks…hell, I don't know how long. I just didn't know where else to go."

A warm hand reached under her chin to tilt her head up. Her answer came as he leaned down to eagerly capture her lips with his, leading that familiar dance as he wrapped strong arms around her and pulled her into the warmth and safety of his embrace.

With a sigh, she leaned into him, letting her bags fall from her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around his waist and savored the feeling of strong arms around her again.

It had been too long since she'd been held and kissed so eagerly and desperately.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Tabby cat. Don't ever leave if you don't want to."

She could feel his smile against her lips as he hungrily kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I'm well aware that I'm evil. ;) That comes as no surprise to me. I've been trying to tell people that for a long time, but they always act surprised when they finally understand.
> 
> Lol. Oh! The feels! The angst! The kisses… Hmmm… Just who was that anyway?
> 
> You'll find out. Next time!
> 
> Be sure to leave some review love! It's my heroin. And it's okay to enable my addiction! My sponsor said so. When I forced him to. :) But no worries, I stuffed him in the closet, so don't fret about him finding out. It'll be our little secret. ;)


	3. The Devil Can Wait

Tabitha closed her eyes and enjoyed the kiss, leaning further into its warmth as his hand snaked to her waist to pull her flush against him. She frowned a little at his much taller frame, the difference feeling strange and awkward to her. But when she lifted her hand to his face, her fingertips brushed against the familiar feel of a stubbled cheek, and she was able to sink back into the feelings the kiss had stirred in her. The memory of the last time she'd been in familiar arms that had pulled her close and kissed her so gently surfaced in her mind. The last time he'd kissed her before he'd…

A disappointed sigh blew across her lips as he pulled back from her, shattering the memory that surfaced in her mind. But he didn't pull completely away from her, simply leaned his forehead against hers as he spoke.

"After all these years, you finally show up on my doorstep—a thing I've been dreaming of for so long—but it ain't me on your mind when I kiss you."

Tabitha's eyes snapped open at the familiar, deep Southern drawl to stare up into dark brown eyes as he leaned back away from her. There was a small smile playing on his lips as he spoke, but those dark eyes still gave him away, even after so many years apart, revealing the disappointment he was trying to hide.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cort," she tried to lightly tell him, hoping to hide the guilt she'd felt when she'd opened her eyes to his dark ones instead of the blue eyes of the one she _had_ been thinking of.

He kissed her playfully on the nose as he released his hold on her waist, pushing the ornately carved door further open and ushering her inside from his covered front porch. She followed his invitation, pausing only to pick up her dropped bags.

"Now, don't you be lying to me, Chérie, I know a little something about what it's like to kiss a woman when she's thinking of me, and what it's like to kiss a woman that's thinking of someone else. And your mind was far from here with me," he teasingly scolded as he gallantly took her bags from her.

She glanced hesitantly around the spacious foyer just inside the door. If the size and obvious grandeur of the outside of the house had given her cause to hesitate in knocking on Cort's door, the opulence of the inside gave her pause to even take another step forward. Or breathe.

Cort's house in New Orleans was nothing like what she had imagined. For one, she had imagined a _house_. Or an apartment. Not an old, antebellum, plantation-style mansion in the Garden District. She'd been unfamiliar with the addresses of New Orleans, and when the cab had pulled up in front of the address she'd given him, she'd nearly told him to keep driving. Never had she imagined that the hunter she'd known years before was so wealthy as to actually live in the famous Garden District of NOLA.

Antiques likely worth a small fortune looked so at home in rooms adorned with white marble, crystal chandeliers, and Persian rugs. Even a baby-grand piano stood in the center of the room. There was nothing cheap or tacky about his place. It was all high-priced, one-of-a-kind type antiques. Not hand-me-down, factory-made furniture like had filled her own home. When she'd had one anyway.

"Does it meet with your approval?" Cort drawled, obvious humor in his voice at her stupefied expression.

"I feel like if I take a step or even breathe wrong, I'll break something or just get it dirty," she confessed.

He laughed deeply at her statement, dropping her bags at the bottom of an old-fashioned curved staircase and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leading her into what she assumed would be called a "sitting room." She'd certainly never really known anyone who owned a home grand enough to have one, but she supposed part of it was the old-fashioned Southern charm at play. Southern homes had to have sitting rooms, right?

Gesturing towards one end of a couch, he plopped down on the other end, his tall frame taking up a large portion of the ivory settee. It wasn't his style, but it still seemed at home in the antebellum mansion. And strangely, so did Cort.

"Have a seat, Tabby cat, and tell me what brings you to my doorstep," he commanded, patting the space beside him. "Have something to do with this fella on your mind?"

She frowned, both at the endearment she hadn't heard in years, and at his continued insistence to talk about something she just wanted to push out of her mind.

"I just needed some time away from my brothers," she answered, a partial, but altogether honest truth.

He had spread his arm along the back of the couch when he sat down, and used his position to reach out with one hand, twirling one of her blond curls around his fingers as he pressed, "So it's got nothing to do with this other man on your mind?"

Turning sideways on the couch to face him, she scooted closer to ask, "What does it matter? And why are you so certain I was thinking of anyone else?"

He leaned closer to kiss her again, his fingers still playing with her hair. Tabitha let his lips press softly to hers, but didn't respond to his attempts this time. Cort pulled back just a fraction, his lips almost brushing against hers as he smugly told her, "See? You're talking to a man that knows what it feels like to kiss you when you're all the way in it. And I've kissed enough women who were wishing I was someone else to recognize the taste of that, too."

For a moment, Tabitha let her eyes close again, remembering what it had been like the last time she'd seen Cort. When she had kissed him and wanted nothing and no one else. When she couldn't have imagined being with any man but him. She'd been younger then. So much younger. A decade was a long time for a person to change. Even under normal circumstances and nothing about her life had been normal.

But it had been good between them back then. More than good. She'd been with enough men since that time to know what real chemistry felt like. How easily the world and thoughts of anything else could slip away with the kind of chemistry she and Cort had sizzled with. She'd only found that kind of passion and real chemistry one other time. That had been…beyond even words to describe it. But it hadn't ended well either.

Impulsively, she leaned forward the few inches that separated them, seeking Cort's warm lips again. Hoping that their chemistry still sizzled hot enough to sear away any other thoughts from her mind.

Cort moaned and sank into her for only a few seconds before pushing her away, holding her by her shoulders to keep her back.

His dark eyes were hidden behind tightly shut eyelids, and his voice had dropped an octave, sounding hoarse like he'd just run a marathon as he told her, "Now you're just trying to use me to wipe away a memory." He almost sounded…hurt.

Her own breathing felt a little labored as she demanded, "So? I really didn't think it would matter to you. I figured you'd prefer a woman that was thinking of someone else. Makes it easier to ride off on your motorcycle in the middle of the night, doesn't it?"

The fingers wrapped around her arms dug into her flesh almost painfully, but his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into her flesh at the same time. Pleasure mixed with pain. Did that have to describe all the men in her life?

But when his eyes slowly opened, she only saw pain in those dark depths.

He glanced away briefly as he told her, "Maybe that's been true enough with normal women—does make it easier to move on when I'm done doing whatever job brought me to town—but you never were a normal girl to me, Chérie. You were something special."

"Special?!" she bellowed while leaping to her feet, shaking off his hold. "You rode off on your motorcycle in the middle of the night without a word. Like I was just another one of those girls who meant nothing to you."

Though he tried in vain to reach for her hands, he didn't stand, instead giving her the height advantage. When she twisted away from his reach, he calmly held out his hands to the side as he told her, "You were only seventeen, Chérie. True enough a woman in many ways, but things were more complicated than you realize."

"Don't call me that!" she snapped. Folding her arms over her chest, she continued in a forced calm. "Whatever. It really doesn't matter. It's in the past and I'm over it. But I thought we were at the very least friends. When you disappeared that night, you left a card with this address and a note that said I could always come here if I needed to or was in trouble. Does that offer still stand?"

For almost a minute, Cort simply stared up at her, as if trying to decipher something. Bitterly, she wondered to herself if he was trying to decide whether or not to toss her back on the street. Maybe he'd never meant for her to show up on his doorstep.

As she stared down into his stubborn face, she marked the subtle differences in the passing years. More than a decade had made her into a different woman than the girl he'd known, and the passing time had left its mark on him as well. His dark unruly hair was longer than it had been then, and wisps of gray had begun to creep in. The rough stubble was new as well. But she found she didn't mind it. Even speckled with gray, it made him somehow more distinguished. So many physical differences were apparent, and she wondered if just as she was a different person, if he had changed so much as well.

He finally relented with a sigh, standing as he told her, "There will always be a place for you here. And I'll always try to help if you're in trouble, Tabitha. Never doubt that."

She rubbed at her forehead, weary from the three days it had taken her to get to New Orleans. "It's been a long road," she admitted to him, changing the subject. "And I still seem to get a little bitchy when I'm tired, so if you can point me in the direction of a bed, I'd appreciate it. I'll figure out in the morning where I'm going."

Cort stepped forward to grip her shoulder in his large hand, reminding her of how small he always made her feel next to his large frame. "I mean what I said; stay as long as you need. I'll help you figure out whatever is going on."

She shrugged before walking back to the staircase where he'd dropped her bags, turning when she felt him stalking behind her. "It's just stuff with my brothers. I just need to figure out what I'm doing next or where I'm going now."

"You leave him or did he leave you?"

"What?"

"The guy that's been on your mind," he told her as one eyebrow rose in challenge.

"There's no one," she quickly denied.

"Of course," he just as quickly agreed and then changed the subject, much to her relief. "Stay long as you need, Chérie. I'll take you round to Etienne in the morning to make introductions."

At her surprised look, he laughed and answered, "Hunters don't enter the Big Easy without old Etienne's express permission, Chérie. Just the way it is." He shook his head at her worried look. "No worries, Tabby. I'll explain it all to you in the morning. And you can explain about this bit of trouble with your _brothers_."

She scowled at the way he stressed the word brothers as if he didn't believe her, but decided that arguing with him would only make it look worse.

After she glanced curiously up the stairs, Cort turned to point up them. "Second flood, first door on your right is a room you can use."

"Thanks, Cort. I appreciate this," she answered as she started up the steps.

Cort caught her arm after she'd gone up one step, turning her to face him with his hands resting at her hips. Standing up one step allowed her to look him more evenly in the eyes, though at over six feet, he still looked slightly down at her. She'd forgotten just how tall the man was.

With a sweet smile, he leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead, whispering, "Night, Chérie. And you should know one thing…I've never given the address of my family's home to any other woman or to any hunter. Only people that know this place are normal people. And they're not welcome here. No one else is."

He left her without another word, still standing on the step and staring after him with a bewildered expression as she tried to piece together another part of the puzzle that was the first man she'd ever loved.

* * *

"So who's this guy we're going to see?" she curiously asked Cort the next morning as they strolled down the street together. He'd had breakfast ready and waiting for her that morning in a beautiful but cozy kitchen, but neither of them had spoken much. Too lost in their own thoughts it seemed.

"He's a powerful man, ma chére."

"Okay," she lazily drew out. "Powerful how? And I don't get why you say hunters need his permission to do anything."

"Just the way our city is." He looked over at Tabitha and then sighed at her annoyed look, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he went on. "You ever remember coming to or workin' a case in New Orleans?"

She mimicked his body posture, slipping her hands into her cutoff jean shorts as she walked. They'd been an improvisation. The city was hot and humid, and she hadn't packed much for the weather of New Orleans. But she was making do. "I worked a string of brutal rapes and murders several years back. But we were only here a week before we caught the guy."

Cort frowned. "You're talking 'bout the FBI. I mean, did you ever remember workin' a case here as a hunter? Or your daddy workin' here?"

She frowned as well, trying to think back. She couldn't remember even coming anywhere near New Orleans. "No. I guess not. Strange." Especially given that hunters did talk about voodoo priests in the city. But then she remembered something. "Oh! But Dean said he worked a case here when we were apart. Ran into you, too."

Cort let out a derisive snort. "That boy came here just to rile me up. And he 'ran into me' when I come 'round telling him to get out of the city."

Grinding to a halt, she demanded, "What? Why? I don't understand."

He stopped as well, folding his arms imposingly over his chest and ignoring the dirty looks they were receiving from tourists that had to walk around them on the sidewalk. "That's what I'm trying to explain here. Hunters aren't welcome in this city. And your brother knew that, but come anyway to take on something he should have left to me."

"But you're a hunter and you live here," she pointed out.

"And I was born in this city long before I started hunting. Old Etienne is the one that taught me a lot of what I know after my folks died. So I know the rules of this city. And I know to let Etienne handle most of what happens here. And he knows to keep his people in line so that I don't have to step in."

"His people?"

Cort sighed as he looked around the street, grabbing her arm to get her moving so they wouldn't attract too much attention. "You know the stories, Chérie. New Orleans is steeped in hoodoo and voodoo. Outsiders—hunters especially—wouldn't understand. Hunters tend to chase down anyone who practices those kinds of magic elsewhere. But those who practice voodoo band together in this city. And they are powerful here. There's been a long held understanding that hunters stay out and let them have the city. So long as they don't cross certain lines. So the voodoo priests police their own, and a few hunters like me are near enough to be a threat if they don't keep their own in line. 'Course, I'm on better terms with Etienne than other hunters. So I'm allowed to actually live in the city. Other hunters are forbidden from more than passing through."

Tabitha thought for a while before asking, "So what's going to make them allow me to stay in the city? Or who even says they have to know?"

He let out a dark laugh. "Oh, believe me, old Etienne knew you were coming here long before _you_ did. But he'll allow you to stay. Because I'll vouch for you."

* * *

They stopped outside a flashy looking shop with a sign that read: Madame Laveau's House of Voodoo.

She snorted as he held the door open for her. " _This_ is where we meeting some all-important voodoo priest? Cliché much?"

He stopped her in the doorway with a hand on her elbow, bending down to whisper warningly in her ear, "Be careful what you say here. It might not look like much, but this place is just for the tourists. Etienne usually works here during the day to make money from foolish Northerners looking to bring back Southern souvenirs of New Orleans Voodoo, but he's no fake. He's the real deal, and not a man to be trifled with. He's got a real shop somewhere else."

Before they'd come very far into the previously empty shop, they heard a voice calling out from a back room. "Take h'er out of ma cit'ay now!" the shaky, and heavily Creole accented voice shouted from the back, the volume increasing as he came towards them. Although the inside of the shop was currently empty, Tabitha figured the tourists would start pouring in later in the day. Everywhere she looked, she saw showy looking voodoo trinkets. Though from what little she knew, the herbs and talismans were mostly harmless.

"Come on, Etienne," Cort pleaded with a winning smile as an old man teetered in from the back. His hair was white as snow, but his wrinkled skin was as dark as coal as he leaned heavily on a carved, bone-handled cane.

An angry look was plastered on the old man's face as he pointed at Tabitha. "You brin' da'kness an' death to ma cit'ay. 'Eye do not want you 'ere. Go now."

Cort held his hands out in a placating gesture. "Come on, Etienne. I'll vouch for Tabitha. She won't bring any trouble to your followers. She's not here hunting. Not here to kill _anyone_ or _anything_."

"E's no h'er huntin' 'eye fears. Is wa's huntin' h'er tha' 'eye do not wan' in ma cit'ay," he told them, his accent becoming thicker in his anger until Tabitha could barely decipher his words. He slipped into French for a minute before calming himself and telling Tabitha more clearly, "You an' yer broth'aires have begun tha End. But _you_ bring tha da'kness an' death. It stalks yer dreams…but soon it will find you. 'Eye do not want you in ma cit'ay when it does. T'ings es har'd enough wit'd tha demons an' spirits stirr'd up by Satan hisself comin'. We wan' na part in yer troubles."

Cort sputtered as he turned to stare at Tabitha, but she sidestepped him, moving forward to grab the old man's arm.

"Are you talking about what's in my blood? Is that what you're talking about?" she pleaded, suddenly feeling desperate. She was astounded by what he knew, but she'd known a psychic, and Pamela had been more than helpful. If this man knew what was in her, could he help her get rid of it?

The old man had once been tall, but was stooped by age, forced to lean heavily on his cane as he stared up into Tabitha's eyes.

"'Eyes know what e's in yer blood. But it e's not tha' same da'kness as wha's comin' fer you. E's tha da'kness an' death you were made for tha 'eyes wan' _no_ part of," he slowly told her.

_The darkness I was made for?_ she wondered to herself. She didn't understand his words, so she pushed it aside as she asked instead, "Is there anything you can do to get rid of what's in my blood? Will that help?"

Moving faster than an old man should have been able to, and faster even than her eyes could track, the old man swiped his free hand across the top of the hand she's placed on his arm to stop him. As Tabitha glanced down, she saw a line of blood begin to well up across the skin behind her knuckles.

"Ow!" she belatedly cried, surprised by the old man's speed. "What the hell was that for?" she demanded as she went to snatch her bleeding hand back.

With surprising strength, Etienne held her hand in place against his forearm, and before she knew what he was doing, he had leaned over her to lick along the back of her hand.

This time, he released her when she jerked herself away, wiping the back of her hand on her leg before cradling it protectively against her stomach. "Eww!" she couldn't help childishly complaining.

The old man seemed to swish her blood around in his mouth before turning his head to spit on the floor. Tabitha wrinkled her nose at the action, stepping back into Cort as he placed his hands protectively on her shoulders from behind.

For a moment, Etienne stared into her eyes like he was weighing her soul, but then his eyes snapped up to Cort's over her shoulder, ordering him, "Git h'er out of ma cit'ay."

"You got no right to order her out of your city, Etienne. She hasn't broken the peace between us. And I promise she won't," Cort told him in low but unmistakably threatening tones.

"Ya make promises ya can'no keep, boy," Etienne warned in return.

The two men stared at each other in a tense standoff. Tabitha was more than ready to flee not only the shop, but also the city, more than unnerved by the morning's events and what Etienne inexplicably knew. But Cort's hands held her planted in front of him, forcing her to become part of the tense standoff.

The silence between the two men was broken when a dark-skinned girl of only ten or twelve suddenly appeared out of the back room, tugging on Etienne's sleeve to gain his attention, even though her eyes were glued deferentially to the floor.

A quick exchange in French was had between the pair, and then the girl with pigtails in her hair scurried out of the room. But whatever she had said had only ratcheted the tension in the room up several notches, nearly choking Tabitha with its thickness. Whatever the exchange had been, Cort had apparently understood, and didn't like, if the way his fingers dug into Tabitha's shoulders were any indication anyway.

"Momma Cecile wish'as ta speak wit'd you," he slowly told her. "Sh'ay has said tha' sh'ay will consult wit'd tha spirits 'bout you. An' when sh'ays done, we will sen' fo're you. But you's can stay in our cit'ay for now." He looked back to Cort again. "Take h'er an' go, boy. Bu'td you bes' be car'ful crossin' m'ey ov'ah a wo'man."

"I mean you no disrespect, Etienne. You taught me many things, old friend. But don't ask me to make a choice between you and her. We'll wait for you to send word."

"Seem to m'ey tha' da choice done been made, Cort," the old man woodenly responded.

Cort didn't answer, instead, pulled backwards on Tabitha until they had backed all the way out of the shop, then grabbed her hand and began tugging her down the sidewalk at a fast pace.

She jogged to keep up with his longer stride, tugging on his hand as she demanded, "What the hell just happened back there? What was all of that about? And why did he _lick my hand_?!"

Cort whirled around to face her, angrily telling her, "For once, Tabitha, don't argue with me and don't be stubborn. Just hold onto your questions until we get back to my place."

She glared at him, but did bite her tongue, letting him tug her along as he hailed a cab.

* * *

As soon as they walked through Cort's front door, he began silently stalking through the main floor. Unable to tell what he was looking for, Tabitha started to ask him the questions he'd wanted her to hold off on. But she'd no more than opened her mouth when he jabbed his hand up in the air.

"Just wait until I say so, Tabitha," he angrily told her. He'd been silently fuming from the moment they'd left Etienne's shop, but all Tabitha wanted was some answers, damn Cort's anger.

"Fine," she nevertheless growled, standing in the middle of his foyer with her arms folded over her chest.

After Cort had finished making his rounds of the house, he came back to tug on one of her hands again, pulling her along through the main floor and back to the kitchen where they'd had breakfast a few hours before.

"I'm getting a little tired of you tugging me around like a five-year-old," she informed him.

"I figured we'd talk here in the kitchen," he replied over his shoulder by way of answer.

When they arrived in the kitchen, he released her hand and gestured to one of the tall barstools at the massive, square center island.

"Now talk," he ordered as he walked to the far side of the island, folding his arms over his chest as he stared across the way at her.

"What was with the commando routine of you running around the house when we got back?" she asked as she sat on the barstool.

"Making sure my protection spells and talismans were still in place so we're not overheard. Now don't change the subject, Tabitha. Talk! What was that all about back there? Did your brothers really start all this? The End Times—the freakin' Apocalypse!" She winced at the way he said her name. It was her full name now that he was angry. Not Tab, Tabby cat, Chérie, or even ma chére. Tabitha. It was almost as bad as being three-named by her mother. At least what she remembered from her childhood and getting into trouble.

She leaned back in the barstool, crossing her arms over her chest to mirror his stubborn posture.

He snorted at her silence. "Silence says a lot, too, Chérie. I was suspicious of your timing. Things are going to hell all over the world, and _that's_ the time you suddenly decide to take a break from your brothers? Shoulda figured it was something big like them triggering the end of the goddamned world."

She eased slightly at him letting up on her name and using a familiar endearment instead. "What do you expect me to say, Cort? They're my brothers. I'm not gonna tell you anything you or anyone else could use against them."

A frown spread on his face. "You really think I'd do that, Tabby? It'd only hurt you in the end." His voice dropped as he muttered to himself, "Even if I'd like to beat on that little shit, Dean for a while." He looked back up at her as he continued with a serious look. "But I need to know what's really going on. From what Etienne said, this is big. And Momma Cecile _herself_ wants to see you."

"How can you understand a word of what Etienne said? I felt like I needed subtitles. Or a translator. Do all voodoo priests or whatever sound like bad Hollywood B-film stereotypes?"

Cort nearly cracked a smile, but visibly controlled it as he explained, "Etienne can speak perfect English or French when he wants to. He probably thought the stereotypical accent would do better at scaring you. I think he was right. When Etienne's not concentrating, he loses a goodly portion of that thick Creole show he was putting on for you. Or when he's mad or…scared…he slips into French." Tabitha knew they were both remembering his devolution into French as he yelled at her to leave. Cort shook himself and briskly added, "Not that I questioned his fear after Momma Cecile demanded your audience."

She leaned forward to fold her arms on the countertop. "Yeah, who is she and what does that mean?"

"Momma Cecile is Etienne's mother. As powerful as he is, he's got nothing on her."

"His _mother_?" she asked in disbelief. "What is she, a hundred and fifty?"

Cort gave a dismissive shrug. "She's old," was all he'd say. "But more importantly, powerful. And her asking to meet with you is a very bad thing, Tabitha. I've only met her once. Not long after my parents were killed and old Etienne took me under his wing to teach me how to hunt. He said she wanted to take her measure of me. But all she did…was just sorta…stare at me." He grunted and guardedly added, "She never said a damn word to me. Just flicked her fingers at me, and Etienne pulled me out and sent me home. Said I had her blessings. Don't think I slept for a week after that."

Tabitha shivered at the true fear and terror in Cort's voice, and wondered if his fear and terror had been justified, or just the imaginings of an adolescent boy.

She cleared her throat and changed the topic. "They don't seem to like hunters, so why'd he teach you how to hunt?" The subject of Cort's parents had mostly been a taboo one years before when they'd briefly dated. He'd told her only that they'd been killed and that was why he hunted. That he hadn't wanted to speak more about them had been no surprise to a seventeen-year-old Tabitha with issues of her own. She hadn't been any more enthused about broaching the subject of her mother.

Cort's eyes closed tightly at whatever memory had surfaced in his mind, and she'd almost resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going to tell her anything when he let out a reluctant sigh.

"It's a long story, Chérie, but suffice to say that my parents were killed by a couple they trusted. Witches—though they didn't know that. The couple was on the board of a company my parents were majority owners of, and they wanted to take control of it themselves…"

When he trailed off to collect himself, she gently probed, "So how does Etienne fit into this? Did he know them? Were they some of his followers who went too far?"

With an exasperated look, Cort continued, "This is why normal hunters aren't allowed into New Orleans. Voodoo and witchcraft aren't the same. And those who practice voodoo _hate_ witches. Though I'll grant you that there are a lot of similarities between the two. The biggest difference between witchcraft and New Orleans Voodoo though? It's Etienne and his mother."

"What?" she asked, shaking her head. "I don't understand."

"There's a lot of things done in voodoo that most hunters would never understand or accept. Even _I_ have a hard time with some of it. Those who practice voodoo in New Orleans are powerful because they band together. They can raise ghosts and keep them tied here and serving generations of their families. But they can also keep those ghosts from losing themselves and becoming vengeful spirits. I've never seen a witch that can do some of what Etienne and his family can do. And so there's a lot of hate and resentment between the two groups."

"So why'd these two witches come into New Orleans to kill your parents?"

"Money. Greed, plain and simple," he answered. "They wanted my father's largest company. An international shipping company that had been in my family for generations."

"You still haven't explained how Etienne fits into this. Other than to say that he and his followers hate witches," she pointed out. She glanced around the elaborate kitchen. "I've seen enough witches to understand their greed, so I get that they wanted the wealth of your family. There was obviously a lot of it by the looks of this place. I had no idea you came from this kind of money."

"Yeah," he agreed with a careless shrug. "My family had old money. But it never really mattered to me. It killed my parents in the end, so I never really saw much point in it. Although I'll admit it makes the life of a hunter a bit easier."

"I guess," she muttered under her breath. "Bet you've never had to run credit card scams for dough."

He finally broke into a small, but genuine laugh. "I _have_ done it, just so you don't feel too left out. There's been plenty of times I didn't want something tracing back to me here in New Orleans."

"So how do you explain all of your disappearances from here when you're hunting?" she wondered.

He grinned a bit as his chin lifted, almost visibly puffing up as he proclaimed, "I'm a rich playboy. Eccentricity is just part and parcel."

"Rich playboy?" she repeated, straining to keep a straight face. Her nose wrinkled a little as she commented, "And people actually buy that, huh? Guess people'll believe anything."

Cort laughed and theatrically pressed his hands over his heart. "How you wound me, Chérie. I always thought I was at least a _little_ better than average looking.

Tabitha's eyes lingered on the snug fit of his low-slung jeans and tight fitted t-shirt, both displaying the tightly toned muscles and narrow hips he still maintained more sharply than any gym rat. Even after more than 10 years—and dressed in a loose flannel shirt—he could have stepped right off the cover of a fashion magazine. His clothes didn't scream rich playboy, but they were easily overlooked when his body pulled a woman's stare in.

Realizing he'd caught her staring when he almost started preening; she cleared her throat and looked away. "Your family?" she reminded him, trying to steer them both back on topic.

He laughed knowingly, but picked the conversation back up. "Right. So to make the story shorter, these witches killed my folks, meant to kill me, too, but I went to stay with a friend at the last minute when my parents were having the Thompsons over for dinner. When I came home and found my folks…well, kids always said that old Etienne was the real thing. That he had real magic…real power. And I just knew there was something off about those people." He gave her a sly grin. "Northerners for one." He sobered and continued, "But I had this dog that just hated them, barked anytime they were near. And kids always said that neighborhood cats disappeared where they lived. So I went to old Etienne, told him about what happened. And he believed me. Told me he'd take care of them. Next day, they were gone. No one ever saw them again."

"So how'd he go from taking out a couple of witches to teaching you to hunt?"

Cort nodded a little as he began pacing in the kitchen, stopping to glance her way every so often as he continued his tale. "You see, there was always fighting between the voodoo practitioners and hunters. But back in the early 1800's, a very powerful voodoo priestess came to power—you'd of heard of her at least, Marie Laveau—and she banded all the Creoles that practiced voodoo together, and they drove hunters out of this part of Louisiana. And there was a lot of fighting between the two for years after, but eventually, an agreement was reached, that so long as Marie's followers stayed in New Orleans, and no innocent people were harmed, they'd be allowed to have this city. And the peace was kept. Mostly because everyone feared Marie like you wouldn't believe, _especially_ her own followers. You didn't want to cross her. And they feared the hunters returning, too, to kill them all or drive them off again."

"So, now, Etienne and his mother keep them all in check?"

"Yeah," Cort agreed. "But they still need the threat of hunters. Both to help keep their own people in line, but also to make sure the rest of the hunters stay out of New Orleans."

"So Etienne saw you as his opportunity to have a hunter under his thumb that he knew and had taught?"

"It's not quite like that, Tab," Cort returned, moving closer to the center island as he bent down to lean against it on his forearms and look across the counter into her eyes. "Etienne knows that having a hunter nearby is a necessity. It keeps his people in line—and I can take care of things that have nothing to do with his followers—but the threat of a hunter only works if he's _not_ under Etienne's thumb. I help keep other hunters out to keep the peace from that side, but Etienne _knows_ I'd come after him or his people if they didn't uphold their part of the bargain. If they started hurtin' people. Only way to keep both sides honest, is if both sides know that the threat from the other is real. But Etienne taught me and wanted me to become a hunter because he's even less fond of outsiders than most. And since hunters and their kids don't generally grow up in this city, it can be hard to find a hunter that isn't an outsider."

"Unless Etienne molds his own," Tabitha finished. "Still not sure that it doesn't make you under his thumb. He definitely didn't seem to like you siding with me earlier."

He gave her a pointed look. "Which brings us back to your part in this tale, Tab. I've let you distract from the topic long enough. Now you better start telling me what's going on. Fill in some of blanks about what's happening and just what I've sided with you on and risked the peace Etienne and I have managed to hold for some years now. Is this really the Apocalypse, and did your brothers start it?"

"I refuse to be the one to lay blame here," she shot back. "Because I hold the angels more responsible for starting it all than them."

"Angels?" he asked doubtfully. "No such thing."

"You got any beer?" she sighed. "This would all go down a lot easier with some beer."

He stepped to the fridge to pull out two bottles, plunking one down in front of her as he ordered, "Now, talk."

* * *

It was after noon by the time Tabitha had laid out the main plot points that had brought her to New Orleans, even briefly explaining to Cort about the demon blood that was now in her.

The three beers had helped in telling the story, but it had been exhausting sorting through what to tell him and what not to. A lot of it dealing with her brothers she glossed over since it wasn't her place to tell, but she was surprised with how easily she'd been able to tell Cort the rest. She figured he didn't need to know about Sam's demon related activities. Or the specifics of the seals her brothers broke to free Lucifer.

But the things involving her—what she could now do—she told him all about.

Most of it anyway.

She told him about the angels she knew. Except for one in particular.

"Well…shit," had been all Cort had said when she finished, and then he'd silently turned around, busying himself with making lunch it seemed.

She couldn't blame him, setting Lucifer free and triggering the Apocalypse was a lot to take in in one discussion. Not to mention the rest of it.

"Do you really think Etienne or this Momma Cecile can help me?" she finally asked him. She still couldn't help but feel that things would be simpler and easier if she could get the demon blood out of her. Not to mention her hearing angels and seeing reapers. If she could get rid of all that…be normal again.

"Chérie, I just don't know what to tell you," he sighed, not turning away from the cooktop to face her. "What's going on, what you're involved in… It's deep dark stuff…and I just don't know. All I can say is maybe it's best that Momma Cecile is weighing in. And it terrifies me that she seems like the best option, because she's terrifyingly powerful."

They ate their meal in silence, washing it down with more beer. Tabitha had hoped that Cort might have some ideas to help her out, but he seemed lost in considering all she'd told him.

"I think I'm gonna go lay down for a while," she told him after the meal. Cort didn't have the air-conditioning in the house turned on, and the warm breeze wafting through the windows was making her sleepy.

Cort caught her hand to stop her. "Tabitha, I want you to know that you can always come to me. No matter what's going on. And I'll always try to help you. I'll always be here for you. We'll figure something out," he assured her, reaching out with his other hand to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"Why?" she wondered, staring up at him in shock at his promise and utter conviction.

"You may not understand this, Tabitha, but I care about you more than you know. Always have. And I've always been here waiting for you."

She tugged her hand away from him. Anger coursed through her at hearing the words from him that she'd have given anything to have heard a decade before. But they were too late now. She wasn't the same girl anymore. "You left _me_ that night ten years ago," she reminded him. "How the hell can you say that you've always been waiting for me?"

Cort was undeterred by her anger, his hand reaching up to cup her jaw. "I left because it was the right thing to do. Your father told me to move on and let you be. Believe me, it was the last thing I wanted to do, but Dean and your daddy were right. You weren't ready yet. You needed to go your own way in life for a while. So when they _kindly_ asked me to leave, I knew it was the right choice. The only choice."

For a moment, Tabitha felt her world shatter to realize something she'd thought of one way for so long had been so wrong. She'd never even realized Dean or her father had known about her and Cort. They'd been so careful not to be caught by her family. She'd known they wouldn't approve, but she hadn't realized Dean and her father had chased him off. "You could have told me," she whispered.

"And what, would you have run away with me?" he gently teased, trying to give a lighthearted smile. "Left your father and brothers behind? Everything you knew at that point. They'd have never let me stay with you. Running would have been our only option."

She turned her face up to stare into his eyes. "I might have," she admitted.

"You needed to stay with them. At least for a while. You needed to be able to make your own choices and become your own woman. You'd have become someone else if you'd run off with me. And I can't imagine you becoming a dutiful little wife that trailed around after her husband hunting. I wanted to see you become the woman you are now. Strong-willed." He chuckled again. "Stubborn. But always your own woman. Able to stand on your own and know exactly what you want."

Tabitha wasn't so sure about that. More and more, she was afraid that she had no _idea_ what she wanted.

"You could have said goodbye at least. Could have at least given me the choice as to whether or not I went with you. Unless you were afraid of being stuck with me," she stubbornly maintained, angered at all the men in her life for them trying to make choices for her.

He made a regretful noise when she looked down and away from him.

"Tabitha, I was afraid to come say goodbye to you." Her head jerked up in surprise as he softly continued, "It wasn't that I was afraid that you would want to run away with me. I was afraid that you _wouldn't_ want to. I knew your daddy and brother were right, and that you deserved to live some on your own and make your own choices, but I was afraid that if I came to say goodbye to you, it'd 'bout break my heart if you just said goodbye to me and didn't _want_ to come away with me. I was a coward, but I just couldn't stand the thought that you wouldn't care if I left."

Before she could respond, Cort bent down, fiercely kissing her, and then pulling away to disappear again before she could gather her wits or even take a gulp of air.

She was left to grumble to herself, "That man is just _determined_ to keep leaving me without allowing me to say a word."

* * *

"You know what they say isn't right, don't you?" Pamela asked as she and Tabitha lay beside each other on the balcony off her room at Cort's house.

"What isn't right?" she asked as she rolled to lay on her side on the chaise lounge, enjoying the soft breeze that the second floor balcony offered to temper the warm Southern air. She wasn't used to the stifling humidity of New Orleans summers.

"It isn't darkness and death you'll bring," her friend insisted in return. "It's peace you'll bring. Peace for the whole world."

If it hadn't been for the strange conversation she'd had with Etienne in his shop, she might not have realized it, but she was suddenly certain that the woman next to her wasn't really Pamela. Her actions and the way she talked just didn't seem like the former psychic. And now that she thought about it, Pamela's last words to her had been that Tabitha would be death or bring death or something similar.

"Who are you?" Tabitha demanded as she sat up on the lounge, tugging on the ragged edges of her cutoff shorts as she leaned forward to demand, "Or better yet, _what_ are you? Because you're not my friend Pamela."

Whatever was trying to look like her friend smiled at her in return, turning to sit upright to face Tabitha. "I never said I was Pamela. I'm merely borrowing her image. But I _could_ be your friend. We can help each other so much."

"What are you? And why do you look like my friend?" Tabitha demanded, leaning forward to pin the other "woman" in a hard stare.

"As I said, I'm just borrowing dear Pamela's image. I have to make do with it at the moment to talk with you. Until I'm united with my vessel."

Tabitha slowly climbed to her feet, backing up until her back ran into the side of Cort's house. "You're an angel."

"Right you are," the angel replied with a winning smile.

"But how are you here in my dream? How did you find me, and how is it I can't feel that you're an angel like I can with the others?"

The angel leaned backwards, bracing her arms behind her as she replied, "I'm a bit stronger than your normal angel, my dear. That little angel of yours, Castiel, might have been able to hide you from most—but I'm not most angels. Besides, one could say we were made for each other." The angel gave a little laugh. "So I can find you more easily than most. Though I will admit, little Castiel has made it more difficult than I imagined it would be. I've had to settle for looking in your dreams since I can't find where you really are. But it's no matter," she finished, sitting back up and lightly wiping her hands against each other. "I had no intention of giving you a hard sell like my brothers are attempting with your brothers. I only wanted to meet you, make you see that we can help each other out…and be good friends to each other."

Tabitha's eyes clenched shut as the pieces fell into place. "You're an angel, and you're saying I'm your vessel, aren't you? But you need my permission, so that's why you want me to think you're my friend."

"Oh, I can be your friend, Tabitha. You'll see," the angel corrected. An annoyed huffed sounded from the angel. "Oh! Open your eyes," she groused in return, gesturing back to the lounge chair Tabitha had vacated. "I'm not my brothers. I'm not going to threaten and hurt you or your brothers. And I'm not going to try to sell you on empty promises like vengeance or some ridiculous idea like that. I need your help, and soon, you're going to need my help."

Knowing that if the angel had any intention of hurting her—or the power to have done so—that she would have already done it, Tabitha cautiously came back to sit across from the angel, still amazed that she felt nothing of her power. Even in dreams, she'd been able to sense the angelic power within Castiel.

"So, what do I call you?" Tabitha wondered. Nameless angel seemed kinda silly.

She shrugged at the question. "For now, why don't we just keep it simple and go with Pam. I like it."

"Well… _Pam_ …just how is it you think we're going to be BFF's and just what do you think we're going to help each other with?"

Pam scooted forward on the lounge. "Now you're on the right track. We're more alike than you can possibly realize, Tabitha. Feuding brothers. The older brother protective but thinks he always knows best. A younger brother that idolizes his older brother but is easily seduced by power. Absent, mostly clueless fathers. And most strikingly similar, _us_. The sister stuck in the middle that loves both her brothers and just wants them to stop fighting. I don't want to see my brothers go all cage-fighter trying to destroy each other. And I don't want to see them use your brothers to do it either."

"My brothers…" Tabitha trailed off as a horrifying feeling sank in. She previously knew from Pam that Dean was Michael's vessel. "Sam is Lucifer's vessel, isn't he?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Yeah," Pam confirmed with a sad smile. "See now why it was destiny that you are mine? But we can help each other stop this. We can help each other stop their fighting."

"How?"

"Just say yes," Pam advised her, reaching out to hold Tabitha's slack hands in her own. "They don't have to fight each other. Together, you and I can stop it all. Make sure it never even happens."

Tabitha stood, yanking her hands away from the angel. " _No_. I won't say yes to you. If I've learned one thing about angels, it's not to trust any of you."

Pam stood as well, giving her a pitying look as she replied, "Not any of us, huh? You will. You'll say yes eventually. But do us both a favor. Do the whole _world_ a favor. Say yes before the demons get a hold of you again. Things won't end well if my little brother or the demons get a hold of you before you say yes to me." She reached out, gliding her fingers across Tabitha's cheek with the gentleness of a lover as she bid farewell. "I'll see you again."

Tabitha batted away the hand stroking her face, sitting up on the lounge chair to see Cort crouched beside her.

He pulled his hand back from her face as he worriedly asked, "Are you alright, Chérie? You were tossing in your sleep."

She blinked as she looked around at the same balcony she had been on in her dream with the angel. Looking back at Cort, she shook away the last vestiges of the strange dream. "I'm fine," she assured him.

Cort's mouth pressed into a thin line as he rocked back on his heels. "I come up to ask you a few more questions," he explained. "I've been trying to research a bit about Lucifer—" he snorted and said almost to himself," —there's something I never thought I'd say and mean—" He cleared his throat and continued. "But anyway, it's become pretty apparent from what you said, and things happening around the world, that this is really going down, and I'm just trying to figure out what we can do to get out ahead of it."

"And stop Lucifer?" she asked him with an ironic smile, thinking to herself that even a year ago, she'd have laughed herself silly at a conversation about stopping Lucifer. She wrapped her arms around her legs as she wearily asked him, "Find any secret weapons for stopping the Devil himself?"

Cort pulled the other lounge chair closer, sitting on it as he spread his knees on either side of Tabitha, bending down a bit to look her in the eyes. "You're really not all right, Tabby cat. You keep saying you are, but you look like hell."

She tried to push away from him to stand, but Cort had effectively blocked her escape, and his strong hands on her shoulders kept her from rising. "Sorry if I look like shit, Cort. Didn't realize the Apocalypse was an occasion for looking my best. I'll go throw some makeup on."

"That's not what I mean," Cort argued. "You hardly ate anything today. Barely picked at both breakfast and lunch. I wondered about it last night, but I can see now that _all_ of your clothes are damn near hanging off you. You're not taking care of yourself. And I know you've got some bad worries on your mind—we've _all_ been worried about what's been brewing around the world—but I think you need to cut loose a little and remember what there is that's worth saving."

She gave him an incredulous look. "That's your suggestion? The world's ending at any moment, but let's go have a good time?"

"There's nothing we can do about it tonight, Tab. So yeah, I'm suggesting we go have a good time," he told her, his arms reaching around her shoulders to grab the end of her ponytail, tugging on her hair until her head had to tilt back and up to look him in the eye. "Maybe that was part of the trouble you were having with your brothers. Sounds to me like all that the three of you were doing anymore was bickering and fighting. Now I've seen you three do plenty of that, but it sounds like you'd forgotten how to have fun with each other, too."

With her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest, she asked, "So just what are you suggesting?"

He released her to spread his arms out wide, grinning as he said, "This is New Orleans, ma chére. One thing we know is how to have a good time."

"You want to go party while the Apocalypse is brewing? That's ridiculous. We should be trying to figure out how to stop this. I've got an old bible with a passage I've been trying to translate—"

Long fingers pressed over her lips to shush her as Cort interrupted, "And the Apocalypse will still be brewing tomorrow. I promise, I'll spend however long it takes helping you research and translate anything you've got. We'll figure something out. Find something. But tonight, you're cutting loose and dancing with me." As he finished, he stood, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet despite her protests.

"Dance?" she sputtered.

"Yup. Dance," he confirmed. "Go put on something comfortable. I know a little place that serves great drinks, and plays the best live music." He ushered her into the palatial room he'd assigned her, grabbing her bags and riffling through them despite her continued protests for him to leave her things alone.

"You really need some cooler clothes, darling," he grinned at her. "You can't cover up this much in New Orleans."

She yanked a pair of jeans out of his hands. "Fine, I'll make another pair of cutoff shorts," she grumbled as he began digging through her clothes for an appropriate top.

It seemed ridiculous to take time out now to go _dancing_ when they should be researching, but she couldn't help wondering if he was right. Would things have fallen apart with her brothers if they'd remembered to still have a little fun now and then?

Would things have fallen apart with Castiel if she'd still been able to sit and talk with him like they'd done in the beginning?

One of her skimpier halter-tops hit her in the face as she stood staring into space, and she grabbed it with a dirty look at the laughing brick-wall of a man that had thrown it at her.

"Why are you doing all of this for me?" she suddenly asked him. "Why do you even care? Especially after what I've told you about both the angels and demons hunting me."

Cort lounged sideways on her bed, stretching out before he thoughtfully told her, "I already explained, Tabitha. I'll always be here to help you."

"You left me," she reminded him.

"And you were only seventeen," he reminded her. "You weren't ready for what I wanted from you. I was only trying to do my best by you. Look, I know that in your memory, I'm the villain of that story, but there's always another side to things, Tabitha. Things going on that you don't know from standing on your side of it. Maybe it wasn't fair that you didn't know why I left and that you got hurt by me trying to do right by you, but I'll take being the villain in your eyes if that's what it takes to do right by you. It made you the strong woman you are now. You went on to become an FBI agent. None of that would've happened if you'd run away with me. And a part of you knew I wasn't quite the villain of your story anyway. Else, you wouldn't be here now. You knew that no matter what was going on in your life, you could still come here, and I'd still help you."

He sighed and propped his head up with his elbow against the bed. "Any man that isn't willing to let you hurl a bit of hate at him for a while to do right by you and keep you safe, ain't a man that deserves you in the end."

Tabitha held the clothes in her hands as she sat on the edge of the bed in front of Cort, smiling at the way his hand snaked around her waist and pulled her closer into his body. He reached up to kiss the exposed flesh of her arm, but she frowned when an image of Castiel surfaced in her mind at Cort's touch. Had Castiel just been trying to protect her, too?

"Why is it that the men I've cared for have to drive me to both love and hate them?" she wondered. "Is that the truth?" she continued, turning to look over her shoulder at Cort behind her. "Does every man think I'm incapable of looking out for myself so they've got to make decisions for me and hurt me in the process of 'protecting' me?"

Cort released his hold on her, flopping onto his back as he stared up at the ceiling, almost looking defeated. "I never wanted to hurt you, Tabitha. But I wouldn't change what I did. You weren't ready for me at seventeen." He moved his arm, pulling it over his face as he continued, "Our timing is just terrible, isn't it? You're too young, or you're seeing someone else. And now that you're here in my home, your mind is stuck on some other guy." He tossed over onto his side again, propping his head up again to ask, "It's not that Fed partner of yours though. You talk like this guy is still alive. And I know the Fed is dead."

Tabitha looked at Cort curiously, but wasn't sure she wanted to know how he'd known she'd been sleeping with her former partner Casey. "He's still alive," she confirmed. "But let's just leave it at that. Things were too…complicated with him."

He nodded thoughtfully, reaching up to teasingly tug her hair again. "I'm a patient man," he assured her. "I waited for you to live your life by your choices, and I can wait for your anger towards my choices to cool and you to forget this man. I'll keep waiting for you, Tabitha. Long as it takes."

She had thought it would give her some hope or comfort to hear Cort say that. Deep down, she knew there was still some love for him in her heart. But it was the kind of love she would always hold for him. A young, bittersweet kind for the first man she'd ever been with. First man she'd kissed…loved…everything. But it was a love that she realized would always stay in the past. One she'd outgrown.

Turning on the bed, she reached out to run her hand along Cort's jaw. "Maybe waiting's foolish. I'm not sure I'll ever get over him. And it's not fair to you to make you wait for something that isn't going to happen," she whispered, feeling a sharp pain in her stomach when she realized the excuse she was giving him to move on just might be the truth.

"Never asked for fair. And I'm a patient man," he insisted, his eyes closing as he savored her touch.

After a moment, his dark eyes opened, twinkling as he looked back up at her. "Get dressed, darling. We're still going dancing. The Devil can wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note — Chérie is French and roughly translates as darling or beloved. Ma chére means my dear.
> 
> A/N: Sorry for the cliffy. I hope you enjoy the new chapter! I know there was no Castiel, but he'll be back. Promise. And I promise I'm not replacing him. But sometimes, another man is needed to give the right nudge in the right direction at the right time. And Cort will serve several purposes. Just trust me.
> 
> Be sure to leave review love!


	4. Separate Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to follow the timeline of the show, and here's the link to a great one I use: http://hells-half-acre.livejournal.com/15110.html 
> 
> But at this point in the show, there's some discrepancy as to how long the boys are apart doing their own thing while Castiel looks for God. Either they're apart like a week, or three months. Huge spread, I know. And I fall on the side of the argument that it was three months. For one, it's not very long to be apart and for emotions to settle for the boys, and for another, it's not very long that Cas has been looking for God before he comes to Dean for help. But there are arguments for both. And since the longer time fits my plot better, that's what we're going with.
> 
> And on another note, the stuff I have written about New Orleans, and continue to write about New Orleans, is not canon from the show. Everything I'm writing about what hunting and voodoo are like in New Orleans, and Momma Cecile and Etienne is all me. That's all from my warped mind. :) So I'd appreciate nobody taking that for being real in the show, and also not stealing it from me, since that stuff is my original work.

Tabitha pulled her helmet off and balanced Cort's motorcycle between her knees as she turned off the bike in his driveway. She wasn't surprised to see him almost immediately open the door to stride out and meet her partway. His Harley was loud. He'd probably heard the familiar roar and recognized it from a block away.

"You look damn fine on that thing," he drawled as he paused to lean against one of the white pillars of his covered porch, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave her a smoldering look.

She took her time admiring the sight of him as well. But shook her head at the way he always grinned and puffed up when she did give him more than a cursory glance. He was a good-looking specimen of a man, but he was unfortunately all too aware of it.

Some of the teasing left his tone as he told her in a more sedate voice, "Wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again."

After pushing the kickstand in place, she swung her leg over the back of the bike, stalking up the porch stairs and tossing the helmet to Cort. He caught it as she pulled down the zipper on her leather jacket. "I left all my stuff here. Of course I was coming back."

"Clothes are easily replaced," he pointed out.

With a chuckle at his uncharacteristic insecurity, she lightly hopped up to sit on the railing to his left as she reminded him, "But my mother's bible isn't. And I left that here with you." She glanced back at his motorcycle. "And I wasn't just going to steal your bike like that, even if it _was_ tempting. That thing is a lot of fun. Almost as much fun as my Mustang. Now, if I could have figured out a way to bring both it and your bike back, I would have. But I figured you'd want to see me bring your baby back to you."

"I'd of let you keep the dang thing if you wanted it. I was more worried about _you_ not coming back than losing something that's far more easily replaced."

He uncomfortably cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot.

"It's been more than a month," he confided in a subdued tone. When she frowned, he added, "I know. I know. Nothing serious here. I was merely worried as a _friend_."

Her frown didn't disappear at the way he stressed "friend," because she knew no matter what he told her and what they agreed to, deep down, he was still hoping for more.

"It took a lot longer to get Bobby settled in at his place than I thought it would," she admitted. She'd only been at Cort's place a week when she found out from the hospital where Bobby had been that the old hunter was ready to be discharged. And despite the crotchety man's protests, she'd been there to see him home and get him settled in.

"How's he handling things?"

She snorted at the question. "Back to his bossy self. He was there every bit of the way as I installed ramps and such at his place. Being a general pain in my butt."

Cort shot her a surprised look. " _You_ , installed them? Why not just hire some carpenters to do it. Wouldn't have taken a month then."

" _Bobby_ let hired help into his place? You _must_ be joking," she shot back with an annoyed look. "Wouldn't have taken me a month either if I hadn't had him at my elbow trying to correct my every hammer swing." She held her hands up to display a few bruised and purple fingertips and nails. "I forgot how painful it can be working with that grumpy old man. But I eventually got it all done more or less to his satisfaction. I even managed to get him busy researching so I could finish working in peace."

"He find anything?"

"No," she replied with a frustrated huff. "Nothing on an angel named Pam—though I figured it wasn't her real name—but nothing much at all about a sister to Michael and Lucifer. Nothing for sure anyway. I mean, to angels, they're _all_ brothers and sisters." She darted a glance at Cort next to her. "You find anything useful here while I was gone?"

"No," he admitted, giving a matching sigh of frustration as he hopped onto the railing beside her, his long legs still touching the floorboards while hers dangled in the air. "I took that bible of yours to every university in the five state area looking for a professor that could translate that passage. No dice. Though I did have several offers on the book should I wish to sell it. They were very intrigued by the primitive Aramaic."

"Good thing you don't need the money, or I might _not_ have had any reason to come back," she teased, but sobered and continued, "No word yet from Momma Cecile either?"

"No word there either."

"It's been more than a month," she whispered with an edge of frustration, but beginning to fear that even the mysterious voodoo priestess couldn't help her.

Cort could only shrug and offer, "Maybe whatever spirits she's talking to are being difficult." He gave her a curious look. "Bobby was okay with you just taking off again?"

Tabitha shrugged and nervously tapped her fingers against her knees. "He kept pushing me to go find my brothers, but I told him we obviously needed the time apart. And then he wanted to know if I'd 'acquired' that motorcycle in New Orleans."

Cort winced as they both glanced at the Harley. The license plate read Vermont.

"So Bobby knows you're here with me. I didn't think he'd recognize my bike, but I guess he did. Not easily fooled by a fake license."

"Yeah," Tabitha sighed. "He didn't seem real convinced when I told him I stole it somewhere on the east coast. But it's not a big deal that Bobby suspects where I really am."

Cort let out a disbelieving laugh, seemingly changing the subject as he asked, "He in one of those motorized wheelchairs or one of those old-fashioned push types?"

"A manual push one. Why?" she wondered, turning towards Cort and crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for his answer to such a bizarre question.

"Just wondering which to be watching for. A motorized one makes some noise, gives a fella some warning, but it's also faster. Then again, the push one might be slower, but it's quieter. He can sneak up on me better when he comes to kill me." He dropped off the railing as he spoke, walking across the porch to peer at the siding of the house as he'd found something intriguing.

Tabitha laughed at his paranoia. "Why would he kill you? Wait…is that why you wouldn't come with me up to his place? Are you afraid of Bobby? What on earth for?"

"Not afraid…exactly," he hedged, his eyes darting away from Tabitha as he leaned sideways against the house, causally crossing his feet. "Just…cautious."

"Cautious about what?" Tabitha demanded, a grin tugging on her lips at the thought of Cort running scared from Bobby.

"Well…he may…or may not…have promised to kill me if he caught me 'round you again," Cort answered in a blasé tone, scratching at his chin as he avoided her eyes. She absently noted that the scruff beneath his fingertips was a bit longer and fuller than when she'd left, though it hadn't quite strayed into the territory of unkempt. It only added to his ruggedness.

Even though she found it a bit entertaining that Cort had been threatened by yet another member of her family of the male persuasion, she couldn't help the little sigh of disappointment that escaped. "He threatens you a decade ago…and you're still walking on eggshells over it," she ruefully noted.

"Decade?" he laughed. "Try a couple of years ago. He told me that if I didn't skin out of Virginia right away, he was going to do some very ungentlemanly things that I'd rather not repeat in front of a lady."

"Virginia?" she repeated, surprised by that news.

"Yeah. I came to watch your graduation from Quantico. But I ran into Bobby, and he _suggested_ that I leave before your daddy found out I was there or they would _both_ do some very creative things to me."

She stared at him, lost in a stupor for several moments. "You were at my academy graduation?" she repeated in surprise. Uncertain what to make of it, she shook it off and laughed a little to herself as she commented, "I can't believe how many people apparently showed up that day when I didn't think _anyone_ came to watch just me. You guys did realize that it wasn't some secret society thing, right? There was actually a pretty big party afterwards you all could have come to. Beer, drinking, the whole nine yards."

Cort gave her a pointed look. "Could you really have imagined any of us rubbing elbows with the Fed types that were at that thing? Besides, I figured Bobby was right and I should take off before your daddy or brother saw me. They weren't big fans of me anyway, and me being there wasn't going to score any points with 'em."

Looking down and fidgeting with her hands, Tabitha wryly commented, "Yeah, I guess it wasn't worth trying to pick a fight with Bobby, my dad, and my brother just to say hi to me or something."

Before she had time to look up, Cort's presence surrounded her, his arms circling her as he gripped the railing on either side of her, and his head dipping down to the crook of her neck as she gulped in a surprised gasp of air.

His breath was hot as it blew across her skin, making her shiver with emotions she didn't want to name, but his body didn't quite touch her. Goose bumps pimpled her skin at the warm caress of his gentle exhale, but his lips never touched her flesh as he fiercely whispered, "Don't you _ever_ think you weren't worth the trouble or fight it would have been, Chérie. You were just about to start your new career, so you didn't need me reappearing in your life just then. And if I hadn't agreed with Bobby and your father, I'd of gladly taken them on. Don't you _ever_ sell yourself short, Tabitha. You're worth a fight. A _hell_ of one."

Her eyes had shut when Cort's presence had surrounded her with his body, but they snapped open when she felt him step back from her just as suddenly. Disappearing so fast that the skin at the base of her neck and shoulder still felt hauntingly warm from his breath.

Although she felt like she'd just run a mile at a flat-out sprint, he hardly looked affected, only a smoldering look in his suddenly darkened gaze as he stared down at her from across the porch gave any indication of his emotions.

"You still wear my charm," he suddenly told her, a predatory grin lighting his face.

She glanced down at where she'd crossed her left arm over her right. Her charm bracket had turned enough so that they could both see the old-fashioned revolver charm he'd given her a decade ago to commemorate their first date. It had been one of the most memorable she'd ever been on.

At seventeen, she hadn't been interested in him taking her drinking or dancing when they'd met up again and it had become apparent that he was drawn to the woman hunting had matured her into. Rather than such frivolous things, she'd wanted him to take her to the shooting range so she could prove her prowess to him.

He'd taken her to a paintball range instead.

Despite her initial dismay, it turned into the best date. Even so many years later. The hunting, stalking, and shooting allowed her competitive edge to come through, but in a more enjoyable and playful way than she could have imagined a date that involved stalking and shooting each other could possibly be.

But then, Cort had never been like any other man. And that was what she had loved about him at seventeen.

"It has fond memories," she finally told him, folding her other hand over the bracelet.

"Me too," he throatily agreed, his eyes snapping to hers as she hid the charm from his eyes.

She glanced away. Part of what she'd always loved was Cort's self-assuredness. But it was also what she hated. Too often, it had left her feeling as if she was on weaker footing than he was. She didn't have his confidence. And when he looked at her with that cocky, teasing smile, she couldn't help reminding herself just how easily he could do better than her.

Her stomach twisted as an inner voice reminded her that she should have felt that way about Castiel. _He_ was angel. But his ineptness, his uncertainty, put her at ease. Made _her_ feel more confident. When he had stared at her with his intense blue gaze, she'd never felt the need to glance over her shoulder to see who he was really looking at as she often felt with Cort. With Castiel, she'd never doubted or questioned that he'd been staring at her and her alone.

Trying to lighten the intensity that his gaze still betrayed, he humorously reverted to the former topic, telling her, "Still…I'm glad to know that Bobby's in a wheel chair now. Long as I stay in my house, he can't get up the stairs into the place to make good on his promise. Now all I'll have to watch out for is if he puts out a hit and tries to get another hunter to take me out."

"He wouldn't do that," she replied, surprised by the sudden huskiness deepening her voice.

"You'd be surprised at the lengths a man would go to to protect a woman like you," he meaningfully answered, his own voice dropping an octave as he held her stare.

Tabitha broke their eye contact, looking away and refusing to let herself think about the implications of his statement as she replied, "No. I mean that he wouldn't let someone else do it. Bobby likes to do his own work."

The tension eased a bit as Cort laughed, taking a deep breath and stepping back a bit more to put more space between them. Though he did observe, "The men in your life definitely are a protective bunch."

It seemed an understatement to her. "Anyone in my family _not_ threaten you with bodily harm over us briefly dating when I was seventeen?" she joked.

He pretended to consider it. "Don't think Sam ever did. But I don't think he ever realized what was going on back then, either."

Almost to herself, Tabitha commented, "I wonder what it is about me that the men in my family think they have to go so overboard trying to protect me. I guess I seem particularly weak and needy to them."

Cort shrugged and started walking back down the porch towards his front door. He paused to turn towards her again, leaning sideways against the house as he replied, "I wouldn't take it as anything but a compliment, Tabby. Might not feel that way to you, but you've got to consider just how much they care about you that they try to protect you so well. It's more'n a lotta girls have. And any man that cared one whit for a girl like you an' was worth his salt would do what he could to protect you. Got nothin' to do with thinking you can't do it yourself. It's caring enough about you to want you to never have to be tested that way."

He turned and walked into the house. But Tabitha sat alone on the railing marveling to herself at the chemistry that still seemed to ignite between them, even when he hadn't so much as touched her. Just his nearness ignited something in her she hadn't known could still flare for him.

She sat for a long time contemplating not only Cort's words, but also the manner in which he'd delivered them to her.

Her first love may have agreed to her request that they remain only friends, but he seemed determined to keep reminding her that he was only biding his time for more. And reigniting the sensations and feelings in her body that she was surprised he managed to elicit even after a decade apart.

And while her body screamed for her to throw emotions to the wind and reclaim the passion her body instinctively remembered, her mind pulled her back, lingering not on the darkened brown eyes smoldering at her only moments before, but blue eyes that continued to haunt her dreams.

* * *

"How do you stand this heat and humidity?" Tabitha asked when she broke the surface of Cort's pool after swimming another set of laps.

He was hunched over several books spread out around him on one of the chaise lounges and didn't immediately answer her. Or even look up.

"Cort?" she prompted as she folded her arms on the edge of the pool, lazily churning her legs beneath her as she waited for him to acknowledge her.

He finally glanced up, spitting out the pencil he'd been worriedly gnawing on. "What?" he asked.

"You find anything useful?" she asked, forgoing her original question.

"No," he admitted, a pinched look darkening his face as he stared accusingly down at the old texts spread out around him. "I still can't find a darn thing that's useful. Nothing to help translate that passage of yours. And nothing about your angel either."

Tabitha felt her heart skip a beat as her mind conjured the memory of blue eyes, but she shoved it away, reminding herself again that Cort was talking about "Pam" or whatever the angel's real name was that had shown up in her dreams. Not Castiel. And not that he would ever be _her_ angel.

She hadn't seen the unknown angel again either to try to press her for more information about who she really was. The sum total of what she knew about that angel was that she was obviously a close sister to both Lucifer and Michael, and that Tabitha was meant to be her vessel.

That information had all come from the angel herself. They hadn't been able to find _one piece_ of useful lore or even mythology that might give them more answers.

Something niggled at Tabitha's senses, telling her that the passage in her mother's bible held some answers, but after nearly two months of trying to translate it—even with Cort's help—they still hadn't gotten anywhere. The language was so archaic, that at best, they were guessing at what certain words might actually be.

After spending yet another morning of staring at the passage and pouring over other old books written in Aramaic, Tabitha had finally thrown up her hands and taken herself and her headache for a swim in Cort's pool. Even though she had spent the last two months in New Orleans with Cort, she still hadn't quite gotten used to the heat and humidity that weighed the air so heavily in the late August days. So Cort's lavish pool was a welcome relief to the heat.

The weather did wonders for her tan though, she thought with a small smile as she glanced down at her arms braced on the edge of the pool. As much time as she'd spent in Cort's backyard split between sunbathing while researching, and then swimming in his pool, she'd managed to attain a deep golden tan that she hadn't had since she was a teenager and had the time to sunbathe. She'd been so busy at the FBI and then hunting with her brothers, that it had been many years since her skin had bronzed to such a deep hue.

She wryly thought that at least her worries of skin cancer were a thing of the past. With the impending Apocalypse, skin cancer was at the very bottom of her list of things that might kill her.

"Maybe we should ply other means of trying to translate this text," Cort thoughtfully spoke.

Tabitha looked back up from her musings about her tan to see him staring intently at her.

"Like what?"

He shrugged, looking reluctant to admit what he was thinking before he finally gave a withering sigh and answered, "There might be ways to contact the spirit world and see if we can't find a spirit that can translate this."

Holding back her instinctive response, Tabitha forced herself to give it due consideration. She knew what her brothers' responses to the idea would have been, an emphatic no. Probably even a _hell no_. And her response would likely have been the same when she'd still been with them. She could almost hear Dean lecturing her that they were hunters; they put spirits down, sent them back to the grave. They did _not_ use them as helpers.

But it had been three months since she last saw or heard from either of her brothers. And while she still wasn't comfortable with some of the hoodoo and voodoo stuff around New Orleans like Cort was, she'd learned to give it a little credit, too. She'd helped Cort with two cases where they'd put spirits to rest that had become angry and uncontrolled.

It was an unusual thing, Cort had assured her. The voodoo practitioners of the city apparently communed with spirits all the time, and in exchange for help from the spirits, they had the power to keep the spirits from becoming angry and vengeful.

One of the spirits they'd been called to put to rest had been in New Orleans for hundreds of years and serving several generations of one family. It had never been angry or vengeful. Had never lost its sense of self. Something that had seemed utterly fascinating to Tabitha who had only ever encountered angry and vengeful spirits trying to hurt others, or the pitiable spirits stuck in a death loop, experiencing their deaths over and over, never seeming to realize they had died a long time ago.

But something was happening in the city. The spirits that had lived there for decades and even hundreds of years were becoming restless, losing themselves. Cort told her that he'd heard from Etienne that the spirits were losing themselves in increasing numbers, too. The old man was apparently so busy with his own followers putting suddenly violent spirits to rest, that he'd actually asked Cort and two other hunters from the nearby area to enter his city to help a few times.

And though Cort never voiced it, she feared just as he did that the sudden, unexplained rash of previously sentient and peaceful spirits losing themselves had something to do with the coming Apocalypse.

"Are you sure that's a good idea right now?" she questioned in response to Cort's idea, worry creeping into her tone as she rested her chin on her folded hands.

Cort glanced away but then steadfastly held her eyes as he affirmed, "Maybe not, but we're running out of choices, Tab. We've made no progress on this, and we need to know what's going on. We need to know how to protect you from this angel, too."

She nodded, knowing he was right but worried about what might happen if he contacted a spirit for help and it suddenly lost itself and became vengeful. But knowing that it might be dangerous didn't stop it from being the only option they seemed to have left.

"What about Etienne?" she wondered, grasping for any other possibilities. She knew Cort knew some voodoo, even if he wasn't an active practitioner like others in the city. "Maybe there's something he could do? It might be safer."

A derisive breath blew out in a short puff through Cort's nose as he leaned back against the lounge chair, folding his hands behind his head as he responded, "One, Etienne's been a bit busy, Tabby cat. And two, he ain't been real pleased with me the last coupla times I talked to him."

She noticed that he tactfully left out that _she_ was the reason Etienne was angry with Cort, and that the old man blamed her and her brothers for everything that was happening.

"There has to be some other way we can get this thing translated," she lamented as she angrily kicked backwards in the water, splashing water up into the air behind her.

Cort opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when they both heard the low chiming of the doorbell echoing inside the house.

As Cort scrambled to his feet, Tabitha easily lifted herself out of the water, grabbing her wrap to tie around her waist as she followed Cort's apprehensive movements. In the two months since she'd been back from Bobby's place, she'd never once seen anybody else at Cort's house. They occasionally ran into people Cort knew from both the normal world and the supernatural one if they went out at night to drink or dance, but Cort was also very adamant about meeting those people at bars and such. He'd told her that his house was his sanctuary, and Tabitha had begun to think of it that way as well.

They were in the hallway to the front door when Cort snatched a handgun out of the drawer of a low table, throwing over his shoulder at her, "Stay there."

Having never been one to follow growled orders, Tabitha followed behind him as he opened the door.

He cracked the door open, and then slid the gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, swinging the door open with a long sigh as he exasperatedly asked, "Tamera, what are you doing here? And how'd you even know where I live?"

Tabitha angled around Cort's massive form, stepping closer to his back, but enough around him so that she could still reach for where he'd tucked his gun, but also see whom it was he'd addressed.

She forgot all about her weariness at someone showing up at Cort's house when he had been so insistent that no one was welcomed there but her. The tall, gorgeous beauty standing on the porch had chased all thoughts from Tabitha's mind.

The woman's skin was a dark, warm colored mocha, with long legs lifting her to almost Amazonian heights. Her tall heels punched her up several more inches, letting her stare slightly down into Cort's eyes, but Tabitha figured she was still one of the few woman that could challenge Cort's tall frame even without those tall heels.

"I come to speak with'd you, Cort," she huskily drawled, her voice a low, couldn't-melt-butter-in-your-mouth resonance that matched her full, pouty lips. Tabitha put her French Creole accent as French Quarter, but the slinky designer dress molding to her curves put her into a more uppercut division than any of the people Cort had introduced her to when they'd gone dancing at Cajun bars in the Quarter.

"What about?" Cort asked her, his words brisk, but underlying warmth in his voice that made Tabitha give the other woman another look over.

She had more curves than Tabitha did, her full breasts almost seeming to spill over the low scoop of her bronze hued dress, but narrowing to a slim waist before swelling out to full curved hips. The tall heels made her long legs stretch even longer, and display firm sleek calves.

"You goin' to keep me waitin' on you porch, Cort? Where'd you manners be?" she asked him, pursing her full lips more as she questioned him in sultry, seductive tones, her long fingers reaching up to toy with a few strands of the tight cornrowed braids that fell over her shoulder and hung nearly to her waist.

"I didn't invite you over, Tamera," he reminded her. His tone was chiding, but almost teasing at the same time.

It shouldn't have surprised Tabitha, but his twinkling eyes and teasing tone confirmed what the sultry gaze of the dark-skinned beauty was already telling her: that these two knew each other. Intimately.

She told herself that it didn't matter and that she didn't care, but it still stung a little to stare up at the statuesque woman who looked like she'd just stepped off the runway and have both her and Cort virtually ignore her.

Telling herself that she was only annoyed at being ignored, Tabitha held her hand out towards the woman, offering, "Hi. We haven't met. I'm Tabitha."

The woman flicked her eyes over her before finally accepting the hand Tabitha held out, lightly touching her fingers before pulling away with one last withering look as her lip slightly curled.

Tabitha self-consciously looked down, suddenly wishing she were wearing something more than the simple white bikini she'd pulled on and not standing barefoot in the entryway of Cort's house. What she wouldn't have given to be wearing a tall stacked heel to combat her suddenly diminutive height, and a pushup bra that might make her B-cups appear more like a C. Anything that would give her some armor against the derisive and dismissive glance the other woman and flickered over her.

Never had she truly considered herself a vain woman—she knew and accepted her assets and her weaknesses—but that was when comparing herself to a normal woman. She knew now what most little girls must feel like when they tried to hold themselves up to models. Most models she'd seen had nothing on this Tamera and worse yet, Tamera knew it.

"Charmed of course," Tamera finally responded, her voice still that warm, husky tone, even if her eyes were cold as they skimmed over her one last time.

As her sultry gaze fixed on Cort again, Tabitha fought the urge to reach up and smooth her hair, knowing it was wild and wavy from her swim in the pool, but determined not to let this woman see her squirm again.

Cort glanced uncomfortably between the two women, either sensing the undercurrents suddenly swelling between them, or finally realizing himself the awkwardness of standing between two of his former lovers.

Clearing his throat, he addressed Tamera again, subtly stepping back enough so that his body was angled just slightly behind Tabitha's, not touching her, but making a statement nonetheless as he maneuvered himself closer to her and further from Tamera.

Tamera's nose wrinkled delicately in response, not missing the unspoken statement either, but she flipped the mass of delicate braids back over her shoulder as she loftily held her head high, meeting his gaze over Tabitha's shoulder as she shortly told him, "Grandfader has asked for you. Bot'd of you." Her tone had lost the husky quality to it, but was still deep and resonant as she relayed the message, though Tabitha gave a small inward huff of laughter at the sheer nerve Cort seemed to have, dating Etienne's granddaughter. Not that she hadn't always known that Cort didn't have much fear of anything.

The woman dropped her eyes one last time, glancing down to meet Tabitha's gaze again, imparting the last of her message. "Momma Cecil will see ya now. Doe'ent keep h'er waitin'."

Turing on her high stilettos, the woman began to stalk away, her gait more of a sway than a walk. But she paused at the top of the stairs to the porch, turning over her shoulder to tell Cort, "I's still be here when you'd be ready. But I grows tired of waitin', Cort."

Cort cleared his throat again as he stepped around Tabitha to shut the door, turning to lean his back against it as he stared down at the floor between them.

"I…ah…used to date Tamera. For a while," he almost stutteringly admitted, a blush, surprisingly, creeping over his cheeks.

Without the resplendence of the other woman's beauty staring her in the face, Tabitha was able to relax a bit and remind herself that it really wasn't any of her business.

"We're just friends, Cort," she pointed out for both their sakes. "Who you… _date_ …is none of my business. Besides, I don't know how _any_ guy could help himself with her. She's…gorgeous doesn't even begin to cover what she is. Believe me, I get it."

She'd tried to keep the bitterness and envy out of her voice, but something of it must of slipped through, because Cort's eyes snapped up to hers, narrowing as he admonished her. "Don't you ever disparage yourself to me or yourself, chérie. Even in thought. Tamera is a beautiful woman, but she's got nothing on you."

He pushed away from the door as he spoke, stalking towards her with a sudden hunger that had Tabitha frozen under his predatory gaze, yearning to look over her shoulder to see who he was really looking at. He reached down to lightly brush a few wild strands of blond over her shoulder, his fingers barely grazing her flesh but making her shudder at the inexplicable heat left trailing the light touch.

"No other woman drives me to such longing and yearning," he whispered, his voice rough with a huskiness that rivaled anything Tamera had been able to lace in her words.

But as the words registered in her suddenly sluggish mind, Tabitha jerked her eyes from her shoulder where his fingers had brushed against her to stare up into the dark eyes that loomed over her. Promising more fire and passion.

A harsh laugh escaped as Cort loomed closer, his voice becoming rougher still as he told her, "And what's more, there's such innocence in you. Even after all these years an' everythin' you've seen. You don't even realize what you do to me."

Tabitha drew a shuddering breath, her mouth suddenly dry as she took a shaky step backwards. Followed by another as she tried to put distance between them again. "Cort—" she started to say.

But he cut her off, a laughter made harsh from something other than lust this time escaping as he interrupted her, looking away as he said, "I know. I know. You don't need to say it again. We're friends. Of course." His eyes found hers unerringly as he told her with a voice full of dark promise, "But it's not always going to be just friendship between us. I won't stop letting you know I want more."

Afraid to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole, she shrugged and told him, "We should get changed. We probably shouldn't keep Momma Cecil waiting. I'm guessing she'll be expecting us right away from what Tamera said."

He snorted as if she'd stated the obvious, which perhaps she had, but gave her one last warning before he left her in the entryway. "It won't always be just friendship between us."

That was what Tabitha feared most. No matter how many times she'd tried to talk herself into it over the past two months, she didn't think she could ever go back to the way things had once been with Cort. And he wasn't the kind of man that would settle for always being second place in her heart, but that was where he'd been relegated.

An angel had supplanted him, shoving himself to the forefront, even when he hurt her or disappeared for months at a time. He was always present there in her heart.

The harsh truth that she was beginning to fully realize was that even if Castiel would never be capable of _feeling_ something for her, _she_ had damnably started to feel…something, for _him_. Even if she could never really have him.

She knew she couldn't have him. He was an angel and she was human.

She also knew that whatever she felt for Castiel, it would cost her Cort. It would only be a matter of time until his words were proven right. But while he wanted _more_ than friendship, she knew that she would lose him completely when he finally accepted that she couldn't go back to loving him as she had when she was seventeen.

And then, even his friendship would be gone. Leaving her with nothing but that ever-encroaching loneliness that always seemed to stalk her. Waiting to swallow her whole once more.

* * *

Tabitha absently noted that she wasn't the only one silent and glum as they walked down the sidewalk in a residential area of the French Quarter. They'd taken a cab part of the way, but Cort always insisted they walk as well so that it was harder for anyone to track their movements to or from his house.

And even though the weather was still hot and humid, Tabitha was glad for the extra walking time to spend alone with her thoughts. Grim and glum though they were.

A young man dressed in black slacks and a pressed white shirt walked towards them on the sidewalk, bible in hand.

"The end is nigh!" he emphatically shouted. "And He said, 'I will show wonders in Heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath: Blood and fire and vapor of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the great and awesome day of the LORD. And it shall come to pass – _That whoever calls on the name of The LORD shall be saved_.'" He stopped in front of Cort and Tabitha, reaching out, trying to grasp her hand. "Have you given yourself unto The Lord and his angels? Do so, and you shall be granted paradise."

Tabitha snorted as she pulled away from bible thumper. "Buddy, if I give myself over to the angels, _no one_ is getting paradise."

Cort pushed the young man away, raising the back of his hand warningly when the man tried to follow them. "You get now. Believe me, we've had plenty talk of scriptures. Don't need more o' yours."

He shook his head as they continued past the man, muttering to himself, "Times like this just bring out even more of the crazies."

A strange look passed over his face as they walked.

"Does your fella know anything about this world? What's really out there I mean. Or is he just some normal guy?" Cort asked unexpectedly.

She nearly stumbled at the sudden question, desperately wishing that Cort had left her alone to her thoughts. Grim though they were.

Still, she wouldn't insult him by pretending that she didn't understand who he'd meant.

With a darting glance at him, she shifted the bag on her shoulder and told him, "Uh…yeah…he ah…knows about what's really out there." He knew everything that was really out there. And _he_ was out there somewhere, too.

They continued in silence for a few minutes as Cort absorbed the information in thoughtful silence.

Finally, he asked, "So if this guy knows what's really out there, why isn't he here helping you out? He must know the kind of trouble you're in, right? So where is he? For that matter, why aren't your brothers here helping you?" His tone turned starker with his anger, until he'd reached out to grab her arm, hauling her to a stop and turning her to face him. "But _I've_ been here for you. _Me_. Just me." He huffed as he ran his hand through his tangled hair, pushing it back from his face as he continued a little more calmly. "Just tell me what it is about this guy that has you still hung up on him, even though he hasn't been here for you."

How did she answer something she wasn't even sure _she_ understood? She shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged, not sure anything she could say would make Cort feel better anyway. "I wish I could give you some kind of satisfactory answer, Cort. I'm not even sure _I_ know why I'm still hung up on him."

"He hurt you, didn't he?" he whispered, his head turning as he looked back down the sidewalk, but darting curious looks at her.

She gave another noncommittal shrug. Cort held enough of her respect that she didn't want to lie, but admitting it changed nothing about the way things were. He'd hurt her, and yet…he still filled her thoughts.

"You love him?"

"I don't know."

"He love you?"

His gaze was locked on some distant point as he asked the question, but she knew his attention was focused on her.

The memory of the last time she'd seen Castiel almost three months before surfaced in her mind. Him telling her that her "whims" were a distraction and that he could never give her the kinds of emotions she wanted. She didn't doubt the veracity of what he'd told her then—or at least didn't doubt that he believed it—so why didn't she simply accept it and move on with her life? Move on with someone like Cort who continued to make it plain as day that he was only waiting for her to give him an opening?

"He said he couldn't," she admitted in a soft whisper.

A derisive snort escaped from Cort though he still didn't look back at her. "He must be something to still have such a hold on you."

"Yeah," she darkly laughed. "He's something else."

"What 'bout your trouble-making, apocalypse-starting brothers? Why aren't _they_ helping you?" he dejectedly asked, still staring hard at the concrete under their feet.

Her eyes narrowed at his name-calling of her brothers, but she flatly answered, "I left messages for both of them right after ' _Pam_ ' showed up in my dreams. Neither of them is answering though. Guess they're taking the whole time apart thing seriously."

He frowned in response, but wisely didn't disparage her brothers further. She was more than ticked with them herself for them not calling her back, but she was their sister. She was allowed to call them names by virtue of loving the stubborn fools so much.

Still, if another month passed without them calling her back, she _was_ going to track them down and knock some sense into them. In the fun, physical way.

Not wanting to dwell on any more touchy subjects with Cort, she jerked a nod down the street. "We should keep going. Don't want to keep Momma Cecil waiting, right?"

"Right," he sighed, resuming his pace as she fell in step beside him, a slight smile tugging at her lips at the way he automatically adjusted his large stride to accommodate her. So simple a thing. But it made a world of difference.

* * *

Tabitha's brows rose as they stood outside the wrought iron fence surrounding an immaculately manicured and landscaped, white-sided house. Unlike much of the area where houses were sandwiched between each other, the house they had stopped at had a modest yard spreading around it, encased by the ornate iron fence that she and Cort had stopped at.

Gesturing at the hand-carved sign outside the gate, Tabitha read, " _The House of the Rising Sun_? Don't tell me, this Momma Cecil is a fan of The Animals."

Cort laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes as he held open the iron gate and waited for her to pass through.

"This place has been called _The Rising Sun_ since the late seventeen-hundreds or early eighteen-hundreds, long before the song ever even became a folk ballad. And _that_ was long before The Animals ever came into being, too."

She stepped sideways as she looked back at Cort, asking him, "You're not saying the song is about this place, are you?"

"That's the story," he shrugged. "Some swear it is. This place been everything that they say the song is about. Been a whorehouse, been a gambling house, and been a hotel. Was even a prison once. Hell, it was even a speakeasy during prohibition. It's only been in recent years that the family changed the name to the song title."

Tabitha began walking forward beside Cort again as she glanced at the stark white siding of the house with new eyes. On the outside, it just looked like another house—albeit a very nice one—but there was nothing to indicate it was a business or ever had been anything of historical significance other than the one hand-carved sign by the gate. "So, what is it now?"

"Momma Cecil lives here. She used to tell fortunes and such here for rich, socialite type ladies of the city. Now that's mostly fallen to Tamera since she was the next one born with the gift. It's been a lot of years since Momma Cecil did a reading for anyone herself."

When they'd climbed the steps onto the covered porch, Cort wasted no time in raising his hand to knock on the door, but before his knuckles could connect, the wood and leaded glass door swung open, revealing Tamera in her devastatingly beautiful glory. Tabitha felt her teeth grind together, wishing she'd worn something other than loose cargo pants and spaghetti strap tank top.

But Tamera paid her no more mind than she had at Cort's place, instead reaching out to grasp Cort's still raised hand, lightly clutching it between them as she pressed her lips to Cort's cheek, as though staking her claim.

Tabitha stared at the pair for a moment, thinking to herself how beautiful a couple the pair actually made. Both tall and devastatingly beautiful. And Tamera's designer clothes bore testament to the fact that she was more than acquainted to the wealthy lifestyle Cort had come from. The pair could have stepped right off a magazine cover together. They certainly made more sense together than she and Cort did.

After letting Tamera brush her plump lips against his skin in a brief hello, Cort released her hand and stepped back, once more angling himself behind Tabitha in a silent but blazingly blatant statement.

Tamera's eyes flicked back to Tabitha with the same regard she might have given a buzzing fly: something that was merely an annoyance.

"She will see ya now," Tamera told her. Spinning on her tall heels, she left without another word, apparently expecting Tabitha to simply follow her.

Cort nudged her shoulder, telling her, "Go on."

She took a breath and stepped over the threshold, somehow knowing that she would get some answers here, for better or worse.

Tamera weaved through several hallways in her swaying gait, never looking back to see if Cort and Tabitha still followed her. When she finally stopped at the wide entrance to a spacious interior room, she theatrically held one arm out in a silent command for them to step into the room.

Cort stepped past Tabitha when she balked, silently taking her hand in his and tugging her with him as he made his way to the center of the room and dropped down to the floor, easing down on a large square cushion that had been laid out on the hardwood floor.

Chairs lined the outside of the room, but Cort's easy confidence told her it was standard for guests of Momma Cecil to sit in the middle on the floor.

Following his example, Tabitha lowered herself onto the flowered cushion beside him, grateful that he held her hand in support, even after the discussion they'd had on the way over. Without his hand holding hers, the heavy silence of the room might have eaten at her nerves until she fled back the way she'd come, damn any answers she might receive there.

She'd just begun to wonder if they would be made to wait forever with baited breath in the spacious room when two small girls began to lead a stooped over woman into the room. She was dressed in modern black skirt and a blouse, but her white hair was wrapped atop her head more in a more old-fashioned scarf.

The girl in pigtails Tabitha instantly recognized from the voodoo shop where she'd met Etienne several months before, but when the head of the other girl with her hair pulled back into a ponytail glanced up, Tabitha was startled to realize held the same face. The two girls were identical twins. And they both flashed her the same, familiar, but tentative smile.

When the young girls at last had the woman settled on another large cushion a few feet in front of them, Tabitha finally got a good look at Momma Cecile, surprised by not only the ancient look on her face and the hard lines of wrinkles etched into her skin—making her think she hadn't been far off her remark that Etienne's mother had to be a hundred and fifty—but also by the milky white gaze that blindly passed around the room. The two girls knelt behind the old woman, flanking her on either side as they waited with their gazes downcast.

Leaning closer to Cort, Tabitha whispered to him, "Just how is this old lady supposed to see anything that will be of use to us?"

Cort tensed like lightning might strike them down even as the old woman threw back her head and laughed.

Almost primly, but still chuckling, the old woman gently reprimanded her, "You best be careful of your words around a blind woman. Even one so old as me. We tend to hear better than we're given credit for. And I still see things others can't."

Wishing she could swallow her own tongue, Tabitha winced and apologized, "Sorry about that. I don't always think before I speak."

The woman gave a little chuckle that almost seemed to politely say she was in complete agreement.

For several minutes, the silence stretched on as the ancient looking woman stared blindly at Tabitha and Cort. She remembered that Cort had described his only meeting with the old woman being similar, but Tabitha didn't have the time or patience for whatever kind of power plays the old woman was aiming at.

The woman leaned back slightly. "So you're what all the fuss is about? You have stirred up a hornet's nest, girl. Things have never been more dangerous for you. If the demons do not get you, the angels will."

"Did you have something important to tell us?" Tabitha pressed, not wanting to think about the fact that War had already informed her about being wanted by both angels and demons. She felt Cort squeeze her hand warningly when she opened her mouth.

Momma Cecile closed her eyes as she listened to Tabitha speak, tilting her head as she responded in a reasonable tone, "Have you some pressing place to be? Must you young people always be in such hurries?"

Tabitha huffed, yanking her hand away when Cort gave an increasingly painful warning squeeze, leaning towards the old woman as she told her, " _You_ called _us_ here. After three _months_. I figured it meant you finally had something useful for me. Or are we just all gonna sit around staring at each other? 'Cause not all of us can do that, ya know."

Milky white eyes snapped open, pinning Tabitha in a blind stare that had Tabitha fighting the urge to shrink away from it.

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped as Momma Cecile said almost to herself, "Ya have no fear of me, do you?"

An eerie feeling seemed to crawl up Tabitha's spine, telling her that she really _should_ not only fear this woman but also run screaming from her, still, she bluntly responded, "I'm terrified. But I'm terrified of a lot of things. Demons, angels, and the Devil himself to name a few. Cowering like a scared rabbit at everything that scared me would mean I'd never even get out of bed."

Tamera came further into the room then, kneeling on another cushion to Momma Cecile's right, and though her movements were silent, the old woman's milky white eyes tracked over to the young woman as if she could see her.

"Many people fear me. Most as a matter of fact," Momma Cecile continued in an almost conversational tone as she looked away from Tamera. "Laveau woman are well used to it."

Tabitha frowned. She knew the shop Etienne worked out of had Laveau in the name, but she'd assumed it was a cachet thing in the voodoo world to use the name of the infamous Marie Laveau. Right along with his exaggerated accent, which she'd almost been surprised not to hear in Momma Cecile. Her accent was French Creole, but a more stilted, upper-crust accent. Her consonants tended to sound French influenced, harder, sometimes her S's even sounding like Z's.

"You're saying you're descended from Marie Laveau? The voodoo priestess everyone around here thinks walked on water?" she asked, her skepticism clear.

She heard Cort curse and mutter to himself as he warningly told her to stop talking, but Momma Cecile seemed to have the same humor for Tabitha's question that she'd had for everything Tabitha had said.

"Ya doubt me?" she chuckled. "I am an old woman…not quite a hundred and fifty…but it's been many long years since someone doubted me to my face."

Tabitha quit breathing. Surely it had been a coincidence that she'd thrown out the number one-hundred and fifty.

"Is it?"

The words were spoken softly, but the shutters to the windows suddenly slammed shut like claps of thunder, cutting off the natural sunlight as candles and oil lamps flared to life.

Tabitha had clamored ungainly to her feet before she even realized she'd moved, but went no further than to stare speechlessly at the old woman now bathed in warm candlelight.

Momma Cecile calmly reached her hands out towards Tamera as if nothing had occurred, accepting a white china cup with some kind of steaming liquid that Tabitha hadn't noticed the other woman had brought into the room.

"How'd you do that?" Tabitha whispered in shock.

"My family has our own unique talents. Same as your family has," Momma Cecile answered, pausing to blow across the surface of the steaming liquid.

"Sit," the old woman gestured impatiently at Tabitha before taking a sip. "If I meant you harm, I would have done it by now. As I said, not many people don't fear me, and despite what you said, you still don't fear me. Not even now. Not really. You're wary, but you won't let yourself be truly afraid of me. I respect that. Most people would have been running screaming out the door by now—" she nodded beside Tabitha, who turned to look down, seeing Cort crouched low to the ground, as though ready to flee himself if she did, "—but you want answers, so you won't let yourself leave until you get them. I respect that. And I've known very few women in my life that I respected. Even among my own family. I've often wished there was a woman of my line with your courage and…gumption, I suppose."

Tamera's nose wrinkled delicately beside the old woman, but she didn't seem particularly surprised by the woman's words, giving no other physical response to them. It didn't seem to be any kind of news to her.

Tabitha considered proving Momma Cecile wrong and letting her feet carry her out the door like they itched to do, but grudgingly admitted to herself that the old woman was actually right. She wanted answers, and if this crazy old woman had them for her, she wasn't leaving until she got them.

She cringed at the errant thought even as she placed an assuring hand on Cort's shoulder and sat beside him once more, pushing him down onto his own cushion.

Momma Cecile gave an elegant shrug in response. "I've been called and thought of as worse," she admitted.

"That's kinda creepy that you can hear my thoughts," she muttered. Then, another thought struck her on the heels of her words. "How can you even hear them?" With her left hand held up, she jangled the charms on her bracelet. "I thought this thing was supposed to protect me from such things." Castiel certainly hadn't been able to hear her thoughts like he could other humans. And neither he nor the other angels could use their powers on her. Although she _had_ wondered how Pam managed to find her in her dreams when Castiel had told her she was hidden so well that even _he_ had difficulty finding her in her dreams.

Momma Cecile waved carelessly at the bracelet. "Those charms protect against many kinds of magic. But not against everything. My…magic I suppose…is different. As for the other…she cannot find _you_ , but why could she not find your dreams at the least? You were made for her."

Tabitha tensed at hearing that proclamation again, but nodded in the ensuing silence. It made sense why some things worked on her and some didn't, but her bracelet wasn't what she'd come to Momma Cecile about.

"No, it isn't," Momma Cecile agreed to Tabitha's thought. "You are quite correct; I did not ask you here to 'shoot the breeze.'"

Her thoughts spoken aloud back to her made Tabitha cringe. "I'm trying to control what I think," she softly apologized.

With a light wave, Momma Cecile dismissed the matter. Setting her now empty china cup aside, the old woman took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and without preamble, softly began chanting in French.

For the umpteenth time, Tabitha wished she knew more than the Miranda Rights in French, because she could only silently wait to see what Momma Cecile was doing.

When the ghost of a woman that appeared to be from the eighteenth century solidified beside Momma Cecile, Tabitha nearly jumped to her feet again, only Cort's hand on her elbow stopped her.

" _Oui,_ Madame Laveau?" the ghost asked in a soft voice, kneeling deferentially next to the old woman, tucking her long skirts under her knees.

"Laveau?" Tabitha dazedly repeated as she stared at the ghost. The woman spoke with the typical French Creole accent of New Orleans, but her speech pattern felt a little more stilted and proper—a lot like Momma Cecile's.

"Yes," the old woman answered. "I am directly descended from Marie Laveau, my great-great-grandmother. I am Celine-Mary Laveau. The women of my line have always kept our family's name."

Tabitha swallowed hard as Momma Cecile disregarded her and turned back to the waiting ghost, continuing to speak in the French Tabitha couldn't follow.

Unable to understand their words, Tabitha was left to study the ghost. She'd been young still when she died, perhaps barely into her early twenties. Her clothes reminded Tabitha of many of the old paintings she'd seen of slaves and freed slaves in New Orleans at that time period. Her white blouse was off the shoulder, but covered by a thick shawl. And her black hair was piled on her head and covered by a thick scarf wrapped around it. Her creamy brown skin was flawless and unmarked by age or hardship, and Tabitha continued to wonder how this pretty girl had died.

And how she continued to serve Momma Cecile when younger ghosts in the city had begun to lose themselves and turn violent.

"Madame Laveau makes it so," the ghost suddenly told her, her French flavored accent making her consonants hard like Momma Cecile's, and meeting Tabitha's gaze meaningfully before she turned back to Momma Cecile.

The old woman gave a gap-toothed grin that still managed to seem slightly predatory. But she didn't resume speaking in French to the ghost.

"I have communed long hours with many of my loyal followers, and I have finally decided that you shall be allowed to remain in my city until you see your future ring."

Tabitha gaped wordlessly in the following silence, waiting for Momma Cecile to impart something else. Something more.

At the very least, something she could understand.

"That's it?" she incredulously bellowed in the stretching silence. "I thought you brought me here to tell me something. To give me some kind of answers."

"It is not my place to give the answers you most want."

"Then why the hell did I even come here?! You could have called me to tell me that I was allowed to stay in the city. Or hell, sent a text."

She jerked her arm away from Cort as he began tugging warningly on her again, but did remain sitting beside him as she shrunk back from the withering, milky white stare suddenly pinning her down when she would have stood.

"You are here because I wanted to take measure of you." The words were spoken in an angry hiss with more strength than Tabitha would have thought the old woman could muster. But then, her withered hands smoothed over the folds of her black skirt as she visibly calmed herself.

With an almost appreciative nod, the old woman calmly continued, "Truly, you have no fear of me. And in return, I will grant you a boon."

With gnarled fingers, she reached out and gestured impatiently at the messenger bag still slung across Tabitha's body.

"Let me see what you've brought."

Tabitha hesitated, loath to allow a woman she didn't really trust to lay her hands on her mother's bible. And uncharitably wondering how the blind woman could translate what dozens of scholars couldn't.

"It is prophecy," Momma Cecile warned her. "And prophecy is a language all its own. One I speak well. You'd do well to remember that."

Reluctantly, Tabitha pulled the old bible from her bag into view, noting how the old woman's breath caught slightly.

"Open it to the passage you need," Momma Cecile almost breathlessly commanded.

Tabitha did so, and then slid the book across the floor towards her when Momma Cecile impatiently gestured for it.

The old woman held a gnarled and aged hand over the text, her fingers dancing in the air in a manner that reminded Tabitha of a pianist, even as Momma Cecile almost lyrically muttered to herself.

Just as Tabitha was going to ask her what was going on, Momma Cecile looked up, for a moment, Tabitha swore color bled into the old woman's eyes, but then they cleared to their previously white state, and Momma Cecile began to speak.

"Is prophecy here for sure. Strong prophecy. Dark prophecy. Prophecy of the End." Her eyes bored into Tabitha's making her lean back away from the woman as she added in a whisper, " _Your prophecy_."

Her eyes dipped back to the page as she lyrically recited, "'As the bitter struggle surges evermore, Graceful Beauty shall be the final and everlasting undoing. For He so said that the End Times shall be abolished not by squabbling and hate, but for love for the Serpent and love for the Sword. And so the Roe Deer shall obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds, and silence shall ever reign.'"

Before Tabitha could blink, Momma Cecile snapped her fingers at Tamera, who silently produced a heavy looking parchment and old-fashioned fountain pen without being asked. As the room silently watched, Momma Cecile scrawled something onto the parchment, and then blew across it before shutting it into the bible.

With a stronger shove than her bony fingers should have been capable of, Momma Cecile sent the heavy book sliding back across the floor to Tabitha, telling her, "You've got the answers you want and more. Now go. But remember, you'll only stay in my city until you see your future ring. Then you must leave."

She made a dismissive gesture and Cort snatched up the book from the hardwood floor, hauling Tabitha to her feet and herding her towards the door as if the old woman might change her mind and never let them leave.

"Tabitha?"

She and Cort halted reluctantly, and then slowly turned in the entrance of the spacious room at Momma Cecile's imperious call.

"The ability to stop this all, thereby _saving_ this world, lies in your brothers' hands. The ability to _end_ it all lies in _your hands_. They are the light and the fire…you are the darkness. But the ability to save your brothers and keep us all alive, also lies in _your_ hands. Only you can _stop_ this prophecy. You can save them, and save us all as well, or you can bring it all down. I see many possibilities in my mind—many choices to be made—but the end will be decided by your strength, and the strength of your brothers."

The withered woman sat silently for a moment, contemplating her words, but she gave one last final nod, one that seemed to say both goodbye and good luck as she added, "Remember: strength lies not in the power within you, but the love without you."

The ghost had been silent until this moment, but she too looked up from staring at her bent knees to darkly warn Tabitha, her words dipping into a more informal Creole accent. "We all depend on ya, _Tabitha…_ child of grace." She stressed Tabitha's name with some unfathomable meaning. " _All_ of us. Even me an' my kind depend on ya an' yer brothairs. We all be doomed if ya fail."

And without another word, Cort tugged her outside The House of the Rising Sun.

* * *

"Did you understand any of that?" Tabitha dimly asked as she continued passively allowing Cort to tug her onwards, just as he'd done since they hailed a cab and had taken it into the Garden District. Had she been in the right frame of mind, she'd have objected to his leading her around by the hand like a child, but at the moment, she was still too dazed to voice any complaints.

"No," he tightly answered as they turned up the walk to his house. "I didn't understand that any more than you I expect. But we'll have time to sort it out."

"At least she translated the text. But she gave us nothing about that demon marking me or what it meant," she absently noted.

As they went through the door, he finally turned and handed her the bible he'd been carrying since they left Momma Cecile's house. She glanced down at the cover as she aimlessly trailed after Cort, following him as he led them into his kitchen. It had become one of the rooms they spent the most time in. Without her having to say it, he seemed to know that she preferred the informality of the kitchen to the other antique filled rooms of his house. At least when they weren't outside by the pool.

"What'd she put in there?" Cort asked her, nodding towards the bible in her hands.

She paused, but gingerly set the bible on the counter of the center island, opening the book and leafing through it to the page that had confounded so many.

The parchment stared up at her, words written in a beautiful and old-fashioned scrawl that Tabitha never would have guessed had been penned by a blind woman.

"It's just the same thing she recited to us," Tabitha explained, holding up the parchment for him to see.

He came around the center island until he could look across one corner to gaze at the parchment she held up.

"So it is," he agreed. "Now, we can work on translating just what the heck it all means. It may be English now, but it's still doesn't make a lick of sense to me."

"Yeah," she agreed. "About all I get out of this is that a 'roe deer'—whatever kinda deer that is—that loves a serpent and a sword will somehow be the key to stopping it all or something."

Cort shook his head. "Not a lot to go on, but that last sentence—" he moved around to read the parchment over her shoulder. "'Obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds,'" he quoted. "I think that's talking about something worse than the Apocalypse."

"Worse?!" she repeated, cringing at the high pitch her voice had taken on. Clearing her throat, she continued, "How could it be _worse_ than the Apocalypse. We're talking the end of the world here."

Cort stared at her for a moment, his eyes almost pitying as he seemed to weigh whether or not to tell her what was on his mind. At last, he sighed and explained in a stark voice, "The Apocalypse is just the end of _this_ world. From what all the scriptures and lore says, all humans will find Paradise in Heaven afterwards."

"So?"

"This here is talking about the end of the Kingdom _and_ the Otherworlds, Tabby. The Otherworlds being Heaven and Hell, at least in scripture. This prophecy's talking about the end of _all_ things."

Tabitha felt suddenly weak and fell back onto the stool behind her as the last part rang in her head. _Silence shall ever reign_. No wonder Momma Cecil said she had to stop it. This was _so_ much worse than her wonky blood. She wished she could go back to that as her only worry.

" _That's_ what I have to stop?" she fairly screeched. Shaking her head, she continued more sedately to herself, "It's too much. I can't be expected to be responsible for keeping _everything_ from ending."

She stared at the old bible in front of her. "I don't get it," she whispered to herself. "The Apocalypse was bad enough, but now _this_? What does this even have to do with the Apocalypse? This is _way_ worse than anything my brothers were responsible for starting." She turned to stare up at Cort, desperately imploring him, "Is this my fault? Did _I_ do something to cause this? Or is this somehow all tied into Lucifer rising?"

Cort opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out to assure her of anything. When he moved to place a comforting arm around her shoulders, she lurched away, darting for the kitchen sink as she felt her stomach retch.

_My brothers might be responsible for starting to Apocalypse, but I might be responsible for ending everyone and everything,_ she dismally thought to herself as her stomach heaved.

Cort stood behind her, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing her back as he crooned to her in French. She didn't understand him, but his deep voice was calming. When her stomach had quieted, she allowed him to pull her back into the shelter of his embrace, his long arms wrapping around her from behind and pulling her flush against the support of his chest.

"We haven't figured out what the rest of it means, Tabby," he reminded her as his lips lowered to brush against her ear. "There's likely more to the rest of it that helps explain it all. But mark my words, _none_ of this is your fault. So don't internalize that and start thinking that way. This is just a job, same as any other. We'll research it, and figure out what it all means."

"Unless I destroy the world, Heaven, and Hell first," she glibly reminded him.

"Enough of that," he warned in her ear, his grip tightening. "Matter of fact, that's enough doom and gloom altogether for one day. Let's head down to the Oyster Bar and get some food. And then we can head to the Blue Moon Bar afterwards. The Howlers are playing there tonight. We'll do some dancing and just forget it all for the night."

She slipped from his arms and turned to face him. "Now's _really_ not the time for drinking and dancing, Cort."

"Now's exactly the time, Chérie," he argued, stepping forward to cup her face with one large hand. "You can't keep pushing yourself so hard without taking some time for the good stuff."

With an indulgent smile, she briefly turned into the warmth of his large palm. She knew she should argue with him and stay to figure out what the passage that Momma Cecile had translated meant. Just as she should have argued with him the last several dozen times he'd cajoled her into going drinking and dancing.

But like every other time, she felt her resolve slipping away at his charming, almost boyishly infectious grin. It was one of the other things she still loved about Cort, that his smile and charm were enough to convince her to blow off her responsibilities and let loose. She'd had far too little of that in her life. Under the watchful eyes of her father and brother, she hadn't had many opportunities growing up to run wild. And then she'd gone to college with Sam where she'd watched over him, studying diligently and only rarely taking time for fun. Then she'd had even less time and inclination to have a good time once she'd finally become an FBI agent.

Despite the possibility of the world ending, she really did want to cut loose a little. If it all did end, she wanted some good, lighthearted memories before it was all over.

Sighing, she relented, just as Cort knew she would. "Fine. Oysters, a few drinks and a little dancing, but we're not staying out 'til dawn again," she warned him.

* * *

"Come on and dance with me, chére," Cort charmingly pleaded with her, tugging on her hand as he tried to entice her away from her comfy bar stool.

Tabitha groaned as he dipped low and kissed the back of her hand like a gallant prince at a ball. His gesture may have been gallant, but there was nothing courteous about the wicked gleam in his eyes.

She held her half-drank bottle of beer up. "I just want to sit and enjoy my beer," she fairly whined. Then she patted her stomach. "Plus, I'm _way_ too stuffed with oysters to dance."

Not giving in to her excuses, he leaned closer, bracing one hand on the bar as he dipped down to whisper in her ear, "I only know two good ways to burn off excess oysters. I'd be more than obliged to help you with either. Dancing is good, but so is the other. And you know oysters are great fuel for both."

He pulled back just enough so that she could see the devilish twinkle under his dark lashes, and then he let out a deep chuckle at the blush his words had incited.

"Fine," she grumbled, shaking her head at his predictable flirtatiousness after a few beers. "We'll dance my stuffed belly away. We're not doing the other thing." He laughed behind her as he dutifully followed.

She held his hand as she pushed through the crowded bar and out onto the nearly equally crowded dance floor. Any type of dancing when the floor was so crowded would have proven difficult most of the time, but Cort's commanding presence cleared some space around them. A lucky thing, too, because Cort liked to dance. And not just jump up and down bobbing his head. Cort _danced_.

Tabitha had danced some growing up. But it hadn't been until Cort had started taking her dancing in New Orleans that she _really_ learned to dance. He'd taught her how to two-step, jitterbug, Cajun zydeco, but his favorite, was to swing dance.

Swing dancing was never something she'd attempted, but between her natural athleticism and training, and his height and brawn, they were well matched.

There weren't many men that would have been tall enough or strong enough, but Cort was plenty of both to expertly swing Tabitha over his arms, across his back, and throw her through the air in about any direction. They'd had a few mishaps early on in his teaching her to dance, but they'd become a seasoned pair.

And Tabitha had to admit, the feeling of swinging through the air or being spun around _was_ pretty damn exhilarating. That was probably part of the reason she didn't fight Cort so hard when he wanted to go dancing all the time.

They'd barely begun twisting together on the dance floor in some zydeco moves when the house band changed tunes from an upbeat Cajun tune to a familiar sounding Rock ballad. Tabitha paused at the thrumming electric guitar and drums as she finally placed the old Journey song, allowing Cort to pull her close for a modified jitterbug.

At first, the words of the song flowed past her ears, but then, Cort pulled her closer, no longer spinning her away from his body, but holding her pressed close to him, gripping her hand to press against his chest as he stared down with eyes darkened by emotion and unrestrained longing.

The words of the song flowed over her then as she recognized the chorus of the Classic Rock song pounding away from the band.

 

_Someday love will find you_

_Break those chains that bind you_

_One night will remind you_

_How we touched_

_And went our separate ways_

_If he ever hurts you_

_True love won't desert you_

_You know I still love you_

_Though we touched_

_And went our separate ways *  
_

He bent low at the end of the chorus, his breath tickling her ear as he fiercely promised, "True love won't desert you. You know I still love you. Just give us a chance, chérie."

She leaned back away from him to stare up into his eyes. It wasn't surprise at his words that made her pull back—he hadn't been subtle in his goals to that point—but it was surprise at the sheer force and absoluteness in his voice that made her pull back.

"I can only be your friend, Cort," she whispered up to his looming face.

He blew out a disbelieving puff of air as he yanked her closer, melding their bodies together as they came to a complete standstill in the middle of the dance floor.

"Tell me we're not still good together. Tell me you don't still want me," he dared her, laying the challenge down in his own line in the sand.

She knew how easy it would have been to simply give in and relinquish to what he wanted. He was more than right. Physically, the chemistry still sizzled between them. And more than that, she had a good time with him.

Instead, she yanked away, disappearing through the crowded dancers as she ran onto the street, not looking back or answering the shouts of her name as she raced for the nearest taxi.

Her breathing was still labored as she gave the driver the address and leaned back against the seat of the taxicab. Again and again, she berated herself for letting a friendship with Cort continue when she knew he wanted more. It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to her that she continue trying to walk such a fine line so as to not give him any wrong ideas.

Not that it had seemed necessary. Cort had all his own ideas.

When the cab pulled up in front of Cort's house, she absently tossed the driver several bills from her pocket, her feet scuffing the pavement as she slowly walked up to his house.

She knew she should leave, but she didn't want to suddenly disappear with things so unsettle between them.

Truthfully, she didn't really want to leave him. Losing his friendship would hurt too much.

Standing inside his house, she didn't know what to do. Walk up the stairs and pack her things…or…stay?

The door swung open with a thud as Cort tore through it, seeming out of breath as he determinedly made his way toward her, his hand running through his hair in a nearly frantic manner as he approached her.

"Tab," he sighed. "I'm sorry. Alright? That was probably the beer talking. I know you just want to be friends. And I'm sorry for pushing it."

She stared up at him as he loomed over her, knowing she should turn away and leave, for both their sakes. But as she stared up into his dark, panicked eyes, she knew she would lose him completely if she walked away. Cort would never truly settle for just friendship. He'd always want more.

And she'd already lost _so_ much. He was the last friend she had left. Her brothers had been gone for months, and neither would so much as return her messages.

Then, there was the angel. Castiel… She didn't even know if she would ever see him again. He would certainly never…feel…whatever she felt for him. He was as good as lost to her as well.

She didn't want to lose Cort, too.

Throwing all thoughts to the wind, Tabitha stepped back into Cort's embrace, roughly jerking his head down to meet hers as her lips crashed against his.

For a moment, Cort seemed stunned by her actions, but then, a warm hand curled behind her head, holding her closer as he hungrily and eagerly met her assault.

Tabitha closed her eyes and savored the kiss. Savored the sensations of arms holding her so close and so desperately. Sighed as a hand settled on her hip, squeezing as his lips slid down to the exposed column of her throat.

Her arms slid up his back to fist in his shirt as she gasped at the sensations.

"Oh, Cas."

Strong arms suddenly thrust her away as Tabitha stared up in surprise at Cort's pained and startled eyes.

"'Cas?'" he repeated in a harsh whisper.

Her fist covered her mouth in shock as Tabitha realized what she'd said, tears filling her eyes at the utterly wounded and anguished look in Cort's eyes.

"I'm…" But she didn't know what to say. Sorry seemed too menial. Didn't know how to explain herself. She loved Cort as her first lover. And she loved Cort as a friend. But there was still one thing stopping her from actually being able to love him. One angel.

A sound like a wounded animal might make escaped as Cort turned towards the nearest wall, his fist striking out and slamming into the white paint and plaster, connecting with the wood supports beneath it.

She cringed at the sound and at him so suddenly striking out. But she didn't reprimand him and she didn't try to comfort him as he stared down at the bleeding knuckles of his right fist.

"He'll hurt you again," he savagely swore, not looking up from his bloody fist.

"I've become rather accustomed to the men in my life hurting me."

It slipped out before she could catch herself, and she wanted to bite her tongue at the painful noise that Cort released, his head dipping down until his chin fell to his chest.

"I would take away your pain if I could," she told him in a throaty whisper.

Still staring at the blood trickling from his fist onto the pristine white carpet, he starkly replied, "I don't think you can."

"I'm sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt, too."

He turned to look up at her, his eyes flat and dull now. "That's not up to you," he answered, sounding like there was something caught in his throat. He looked away. "I'm gonna go take a walk." He waved a hand back towards her, not looking back as he told her, "We'll talk more in the morning. When neither of us is under the influence."

She nodded at his retreating back, even if he couldn't see, and watched as he stepped out the door, the ornately carved thing shutting with a soft click that seemed to echo throughout his empty house.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself as she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. _Cort's_ spare bedroom. Loneliness settled over her heart once more, coiling around her as it reminded her that her brothers were gone, she'd just lost her last friend, and her angel…

Numbness had settled over her as she stepped into the bathroom suite attached to her bedroom. Like so much of Cort's house, the bathroom was elaborate, expansive, and beautiful. The large steam shower was no different. Five people could have easily lain down on the floor to sleep, and that didn't even count the bench across one wall.

But while she'd relished the multiple showerheads and oscillating jets that could massage her worries away, _this_ time, she knew nothing would chase her loneliness away.

She turned the water on and stood under the warm spray, bracing her palms against the slate wall in front of her as she hung her head, her hair falling forward in wheat colored sheets to block out her view as she attempted to lose herself in the beating spray at her back.

There was no sound to warn her—at least none she heard over the roaring water in her ears—but there was still the unmistakable sensation that crawled across her skin. And she knew exactly who elicited that particular shiver in her.

But she didn't move to acknowledge his presence. Didn't lift her head from under the spray that pounded at her back.

And he didn't move or speak to break the loaded silence first.

"How'd you even find me?" she finally asked, tasting the warm water as it trailed across her downturned face and dripped from her lips.

"Your brother didn't know where you might be, but Bobby said you'd likely be here," Castiel answered, his voice almost hard and tight.

She jumped slightly at the closeness of his voice, surprised that it sounded like he stood inside the shower not far behind her.

Eyes still closed, she let the silence around them fill her, tasting the weight of it. It was heavy with anger…and something else.

"You saw?"

When only silence answered, she stated, "You saw me kiss Cort."

From even closer behind her, Castiel hissed, "Yes."

Finally, she lifted her head, but only enough to hide her face and emotions by the spray of the water. Dipping her head down again, she replied, "Even when I wanted to prove that he might be enough…it was only you in my mind. I feel like there's nothing left of me. You've utterly consumed me and I'm just…empty."

Pressing closer to her ear, Castiel's voice softened as he asked, "Is that why you kissed the human? To fight this…emptiness?"

She nodded, her hands fisting against the slate wall of the shower in front of her. "Sometimes, I think there's nothing left of me…but then…you appear…and none of it matters because you're here."

She shook her head. "Until I remind myself that I mean nothing to you," she bitterly added, pressing her palms flat again as her arms flexed and she pushed harder at the slate wall, as if to punish it for her own foolishness.

"Why are you even here?" she whispered.

"Perhaps I don't wish to feel empty, either," he told her, his hands suddenly smoothing across her shoulder blades.

At one simple touch, she melted back into his arms, her head falling back against his shoulder as his arms ran down hers to twine strong fingers over hers, holding them in place against the slate.

She shuddered at the feel of the warm body pressed along hers from behind, nothing separating them as his head dipped down to her shoulder, his teeth biting almost painfully at her joint.

Unable to deny him anything, she tilted her head away from him, exposing the side of her throat as he trailed his lips up the curve of her neck, nibbling and laving kisses as he went.

Soon, his hands ran back along her arms, curling around her body to cup her breasts in his hands, twisting and teasing at her nipples until she gasped in time to the painful ecstasy. With her own hands finally free, she raised them over her head to twine into his hair behind her, tugging him closer to her neck as he kissed and nipped at her skin in time with his teasing hands at her breasts.

She felt him hard and ready against the small of her back, jerking slightly when she twisted her hips and rubbed her butt against his groin. His longing groan was beautiful music in her ear as she reached down behind her back with one hand to teasingly run the backs of her fingers up his length.

In response, one of Castiel's hands dipped between her legs, parting her folds as he thrust his fingers into her, moving them in concert with his hand at her breast, and his mouth at her neck.

In the past, Tabitha had mostly been the initiator and leader in her encounters with Castiel, but for once, the angel was staying at least one step ahead of her, not asking, but taking what he wanted. Any of his previous tentativeness was gone as he suddenly lifted and turned her in his arms, pressing her back against the wet slate of the shower and entering her with one strong thrust.

Her eyes met his for the first time in months as her legs wrapped comfortably around his waist, relishing the completeness she felt as he held her still against his chest, her weight supported by the shower at her back, and strong arms under her thighs and butt.

She was thankful for the warm spray washing away any evidence of tears as she pressed her forehead to his, watching the way he sighed at her touch, blue eyes darkened with passion slipping shut.

"I missed you."

His eyes snapped open to stare at her, something like surprise shinning in them. "And I've missed you," he answered thickly.

Before she could speak again or ask him any of the million questions in her mind, he tightened his grip against her thighs, squeezing as he began slowly thrusting his hips up and down.

The position meant he entered her as fully as he could, stretching her almost beyond what she could take after so many months, but their water slick-skin compensated and allowed her to take him fully without the pain she might have felt otherwise after so many months celibate.

"I can't believe you're here," she told him as her legs unwrapped from his waist, her feet sliding down to press against the firm mounds of his butt as his muscles clenched and his pace increased. She let one foot drop down until her heel found a foothold on a soap dish that jutted out, and she used the new ground to help support her weight and push back against him.

"This was where I most wanted to be tonight," he told her, his voice dipping into a lower octave while his fingers dug into her skin, as if afraid she might disappear.

There was no chance of her disappearing, and Tabitha always gave as good as she got. Leveraging her body against him, she leaned back against the wall, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she began twisting her hips in time with his thrusts, biting her lip as she felt him increase his pace to a fevered tempo, her muscles began to tighten, and her breathing became shallow pants.

"Don't stop," she begged him while running one hand over the smooth, water-slick muscles of his chest, massaging and twisting at the small nubs of his hardened nipples to bring him closer to the edge she could feel approaching. "Don't ever stop."

"I can't," he promised, his voice tight as he leaned forward to capture her lips, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as his body pumped into hers.

She gasped into his mouth, her cries swallowed by his kiss as her body tightened and convulsed in a shattering orgasm, her foot slipping to the ground as its hold shattered and gave way. With her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, she felt him shudder beneath her while her body convulsed and milked his climax from him, his head turned into the crook of her neck as he let out a long groan of satisfaction.

He inhaled deeply through his nose at her neck, his body relaxed against her embrace, only his weight against her still holding her up between him and the wet slate.

She ran her fingers up and down his back, drawing small patterns in his skin and occasionally stopping to lightly massage here and there. But when his teeth nipped lightly at the sensitized skin of her neck, she gasped and tightened her left leg still around his hip.

His length jerked inside her in response to her tightening muscles.

When he pulled back, his head fell under the beating spray, his brown hair falling forward to obscure his eyes, but his lips were thinned into a line of determination as he ran his hands under her thighs again, lifting her right leg from the floor until it had wrapped around his waist once more, her feet locking together at his back.

"Oh, Cas," she sighed as he turned and carried her through the shower. "The water," she reminded him when she realized it was still running, settling her lips against his neck to return the delicious abuse he'd lavished at hers.

She felt his body shiver beneath her touch, and felt one hand release her as he gestured behind his back with a twisting motion and the water cut off. But his movements became jerky as she continued nipping his skin, his hands kneading almost painfully at the flesh of her thighs and butt.

The glass shower door was suddenly hurled open away from her back, swinging with such force that it shattered against the outside of the shower wall. But as she paused to voice her concern, one of Castiel's hands slid up her back to thread through her hair, tilting her face to his as he kissed her words away. Broken glass was forgotten as he continued to carry her, his lips almost leisurely tasting hers now.

She was breathless when he suddenly dropped her on the bed. But he didn't immediately join her. Instead, he stood over her, water dripping from him as he stared at her with hooded eyes. She writhed on the bed, the cold air making her wet skin shiver as it blew across her, increasing the sensations of her most sensitive skin. Her left hand trailed over her head as she arched her back invitingly, smiling at the hungry growl it elicited. With her right hand, she reached out to beckon him closer. Silently begging him to rejoin her. He took a step and grasped her hand, but pulled it to the side out of his line of view while he continued his hungry stare, as though trying to memorize her.

It was that look that she loved, that made her shiver. That made her yearn for more. More than she feared he could give her anyway.

Part of her would always love Cort as her first lover, but every time he gave her a heated look, she had the urge to look over her shoulder for the woman that caused it. His flirtatious and teasing nature was a part of the charm that she loved, but it was also the part that never allowed her to really believe that he could settle for her.

But when Castiel stared at her, she never doubted where he was looking. His eyes told her with certainty that he was looking at her and her alone. That he wanted no one else. And neither did she.

In response to him holding her hand away, she opened her legs and hooked her heels behind his thighs, tugging him closer, guiding him where she wanted him to be.

He allowed her to pull him only so far, stopping when his legs hit the foot of the bed, all while still staring down at her as if she was a feast laid out for a starving man. She wished he'd let go of his restraint and devour her.

But his pause gave her time for questions to bubble up in her mind.

"Why are you here after so many months, Cas?"

Eyes flicking up to hers, he steadily answered, "Dean said I couldn't just sit quietly on my last night. He took me to a den of iniquity, but the woman became angry when I only tried to talk to her. Dean asked what I _did_ want to do on my last night, and I realized there was only one thing that I have ached to do."

"Den of iniquity?" she repeated, some of her passion cooling as she pushed up to her elbows. "What, he took you there to get laid?!" she demanded.

His head tilted at her words. "She tried to make me lay down, yes, but her touch was immoral." His voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she was what you call a prostitute."

Her anger suddenly fled at his absolute innocence, even in the midst of their own activities. With a light chuckle, she drew her arm down to cover her breasts, asking him, "And my touch isn't immoral?"

The words were meant to come out lightly, but she feared they came out with a sad edge to them.

The angel shocked her when he suddenly leaned down over her, bracing one knee between her thighs as he reached out to push her arm away from her chest, opening her body up to his view again.

He shook his head, drops of water flinging around, some landing coolly on her skin and causing her breath to catch as he insistently told her, "No. Your touch isn't immoral. Your touch…feels…right."

His hands gripped both of her wrists now, pressing them flat against the bed as his lips descended to her neck again.

Trying to ignore the delightful feel of his kiss, she instead latched onto something else he'd said. "What do you mean your 'last night,' Cas? Why would Dean ask you what you want to do on your last night and then take you to a whorehouse?"

He shook his head against her neck, releasing her wrists to run his hands across her arms, one hand stopping to cup her breasts as the other descended lower to spread her legs around his hips again.

Without a word, he thrust forward, entering her with one smooth motion, and driving away her last coherent thoughts. Coherency gone, she could only moan in delicious response to his fevered pace.

Their first time in the shower had been fast and hard, and if she thought the second time would be any different, she was wonderfully mistaken.

Mostly with Cas, it had been slow and sweet, with her leading the pace. The lead change wasn't bothering her though, not when it gifted her with such divine results. He touched her like a man on fire. Like a man denied his greatest wish for too long. And he stared at her as if he might never see her again.

But she didn't give pause to the thought. Didn't wonder about where he'd been for so many months, and how soon he might disappear again. For the moment, he was there with her. And that would have to be enough.

* * *

Hours later, she lay sprawled across Castiel's chest, feeling physically wrung out, but wonderfully sated.

An unusually cool breeze drifted through the room, licking across her skin and making her shiver, but it wasn't enough to rouse her into pulling up one of the sheets they'd pushed down the bed in their earlier activities.

Castiel lay quietly beneath her, not even out of breath or flushed to hint at their past several hours of activity, but his fingers drew little patterns on her back in lazy, contented motions. It was another reminder that he wasn't human like her. His body looked human, but within him…

She stiffened at the reminder of what else was within Castiel. Who else. It had never been far from her mind since she'd discovered Jimmy's presence, but when Castiel had shown up, she'd selfishly shoved it and everything else away.

Sitting up, she turned away from Castiel on the bed, his hand falling away from her back as she scooted to the edge, pulling her knees to her chest.

After her discovery of Jimmy being stuck inside his own body with Castiel in charge, she'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't infringe on what little freedoms the man still had while he was locked inside himself with the angel. She'd known how morally wrong it was that she'd been sleeping with Castiel for months even without _knowing_ Jimmy was stuck along for the ride, but having no choice in what she and Castiel did with his body.

For months, she'd convinced herself that the right thing was to abstain from touching Castiel that way when Jimmy had no choice in the matter.

But one touch from Castiel was all it took for her to shove those decisions away. To selfishly choose her own happiness instead.

She felt Castiel slide across the bed, his hand gliding gently up her back as his voice rumbled, "What's wrong?"

Her body shivered at the feelings even so chaste a touch evoked in her, knowing that even with Jimmy stuck somewhere inside that body, that if Castiel pulled her back onto the bed, she'd willingly go. Enthusiastically even.

With a saddened sigh, she stood from the bed, Castiel's hand falling away once more as she dragged one of the sheets from the bed to wrap around her body, moving to stand by the open balcony doors. New Orleans was quiet tonight, and the lights of the city blocked her view of the stars, but she closed her eyes and imagined them in the sky anyway.

Castiel didn't speak, yet she could feel his eyes on her back, watching her, and waiting for her to speak.

"Have you ever had a moment where you realized that you're not the person you once thought you were? After telling yourself all along that you're a certain kind of person and that there were certain lines you would never cross. Then a moment comes along, where you're staring at that line, and then without hesitation, you just blow right by it. Like there was never even any other choice or alternative. And then you realize you're not the person you thought you were, the person you once prided yourself as being. Who always made the right choice. The moral choice. In the end, instead, you make the selfish choice. Because, you've had so damn little happiness of your own, that you just want a little taste of it, even at the expense of someone else." She turned to look at Castiel lying sideways on the bed, his head propped up by his elbow. "Have you ever had that moment where you realize you're not the person you always thought you were?"

He held her eyes silently for a moment, giving her words due consideration before he stood and walked towards her, headless of his undressed state.

For once, the sight didn't cause a hitch in her breath; she felt almost desperate to know if he could even understand what she was saying.

Drawing even with her in the balcony doorway, he leaned against the other side of the entrance, looking out on Cort's back yard as he slowly explained, "I am an angel that has cast off the yoke of my superiors, denied their orders, and Fallen for the sake of the humans under my protection. And I have killed my brothers and sisters to do it. All to stop something _they_ say must happen. Because I've chosen to believe in three humans over all other angels." He turned to give her a wry look. "I very much understand the feeling of realizing that I am not what I once thought I was."

Instead of comforting her to know that Castiel at least understood her self-realization, it saddened her to think of how far they'd both fallen…and for the choices they'd made, both together, and _for_ each other.

"I don't think I could have made any other choices," she admitted in a fearful whisper.

"I don't think I could have, either."

She looked out across Cort's back yard. "I _really_ am not the person I thought I was," she continued, her fingers toying with the charm on her bracelet that Cort had given her. "We never should have done this in Cort's house."

Castiel shrugged dismissively, eyeing her actions. "The human heard nothing, he hasn't returned."

"That's not really the point, Cas," she tiredly explained, her hand dropping away from the charm. "It still wasn't right." But it was another choice she'd made. And one she wouldn't have made differently.

Silence filled the air between them, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence.

"All these months you've been gone looking for God, Cas," she finally spoke. "Did you ever find him?"

"No. He's proven more elusive than I anticipated."

A bitter laugh escaped. "Welcome to being human. We all find that God is elusive."

She shook her head. "Have you made _any_ progress on finding him, or have you given up? Is that why you're back?"

His tousled brown locks fell across his forehead as he shook his head. "I've not given up. There's one angel that might know God's current location. Dean's helping me to trap him and then hopefully he will be able to continue the search for God after we've questioned the angel."

Tabitha twisted a quarter of a turn to lean her back against the doorjamb as she stared at Castiel, her forehead wrinkling in confusion as she pulled the sheet tighter to her chest. "I don't understand. Why would Dean continue the search for God?" His words from earlier in the evening came back to her. "You don't think you'll survive this. That's why Dean took you to a…den of whatever…isn't it?"

"Raphael is a very powerful archangel. And perhaps one of the few that may know God's whereabouts. Trapping him isn't likely to make him happy. And he's not likely to be fond of me anyway…at least any fonder of me than the last time he killed me."

Stepping forward, Tabitha took one of Castiel's hands in hers, insistently telling him, "Then don't do this. It sounds foolish, Cas. Don't do something that's only going to get you killed."

He held her hand between them, raising his other to cup her cheek. "Only you have ever worried so about me, shown me such concern. But this is something I must do. My Father can stop this. He can make it right again. No humans will have to die. You…and your brothers will be safe this way. No vessels."

She suddenly remembered some of her discussions with Cort, and learning from him that he'd left her all those years ago under the notion of protecting her, even though it had hurt her in the process.

"Is that what you've been trying to do?" she asked Castiel, turning her head into the angel's hand at her cheek. "When you left months ago—every time you've pushed me away—you were actually trying to protect me? Even though it hurt me every time?"

When the hand fell away from her cheek, she opened her eyes to look up into Castiel's confused and pinched face.

"If you were hurt, at least you were still alive to hurt," he roughly told her, his hands falling to his sides.

"True," she agreed. "Not knowing didn't make it hurt any less though," she explained.

"Is that why you are here with this human?" he suddenly asked, something unnamed creeping into his voice. "Because I… _hurt…_ you?" he carefully asked.

"No," she quickly denied, placing a soothing hand on the angel's chest. "Well, not exactly. I came here because I felt lonely. And I needed a friend. Someone I didn't think would turn me away. Not after my own brothers turned away anyway. I just needed a friend. There hasn't been anyone else for me since you showed up and whispered in my ear for me to go back for my badge and saved me from blowing up."

Castiel reached down to pick up one of the charms lying across his chest, holding up the revolver charm that Cort had given her. "The human feels more. He feels…lust for you. He…loves you. And you still keep his charm."

"What, are you _jealous_?!" she incredulously demanded. "Is that what you finally showing up was all about?!"

His chest puffed up defensively, but he didn't answer. He also didn't deny it.

She tugged her left hand away from him, replacing it with her right hand over his heart. "I keep it to recall good memories. Whatever love I once had for Cort was that of a girl who didn't yet really know herself. He wanted me to go my own way and grow up—and I did—but the woman I became doesn't have the same love for him anymore." _He was replaced in my heart by someone else._ But she didn't voice the thought. "It's just a silly gift given by a man to a girl. Nothing more."

"A gift?"

"Yeah, guys often give girls gifts and trinkets, you know, to win their favor and affections I suppose."

"I would give you a gift," Castiel suddenly told her, opening his hand between them, a silver charm laid on his palm.

She leaned closer to look at the small wing, long and curved, exactly like a single angel's wing.

"Do you freely, and willing, accept and bear this…amulet…this…trinket from me?"

"Of course," she readily answered, but surprised as she watched him turn his hand over her wrist, clamping down around her bracelet, and then pulling away to reveal the wing attached next to her other charms.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, pulling her wrist closer to admire the silver charm. When she ran a finger over the charm, her skin tingled with the familiar vibrations that licked across her skin at Castiel's touch.

"Thank you for thinking I was something special…even if only for a while," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead.

She forgot the bracelet and looked back up at him. "This is crazy, Cas," she insisted. "There's got to be another way. I don't want to lose you."

Fighting back tears, she took a moment to look away and gather herself. When she turned back towards Castiel, he was dressed again in his familiar rumpled suit and trench coat.

He reached up to brush feather light fingertips across her cheek. "I feel…regret that I've hurt you in the past. But I cannot lie and say that I wouldn't likely continue to hurt you in the future. We _are_ different. And there are a lot of things I know I don't understand about humans. In the end, you would only continue getting hurt." He stepped back and let his hand fall away. "It's better this way. I'm very grateful to have been allowed to share one last night with you. And I'll do everything in my power to protect you…and your brothers."

Before she could step forward to stop him, he'd disappeared.

Without looking down, she pulled the sheet tighter around her with one hand and grasped the angel wing charm in her other, feeling a slight thrum of familiar power as she clutched the charm tightly in her fist.

She was coming to understand that with Castiel, there might never be the wonderful bliss she felt with him, without the excruciatingly painful blows he also dealt her, but she was beginning to realize that it, too, was a line in the sand that she was more than willing to blow by. They came from worlds apart, and he would likely always behave in ways that would frustrate or hurt her, but she knew it cut both ways. She'd hurt him, too.

Still, going their separate ways was beginning to cut a hole in her heart.

Clutching the charm, she whispered, "You'll never walk alone. Take care…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really needed to do this chapter justice. So I hope I at least came close.
> 
> Thanks for reading! And I have more good stuff planned for the future ;)
> 
> * Separate Ways lyrics © Journey - Weedhigh Nightmare Music


	5. Don't Let It End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting super long, so I've split it into two chapters. This is the longer of the two.
> 
> And on another note, this chapter (and the next) takes a departure in style from past chapters. I've been writing in strictly 3rd person past-tense, but I feel like my verbiage was becoming stilted (and frankly, I think I was getting bored with it) and since I'm writing this as a learning experience anyway, I've decided to change it up and try 3rd person present-tense. So let me know what you guys think and if you like this new style better, or prefer the old past-tense. Thanks!
> 
> Oh yeah, and apparently I'm in a porny frame of mind. :) Just call me Chuck! But I swear, it had been planned for this chapter for a long time. Pinky swear.

Tabitha turns back into the room after Castiel disappears, searching the bedside table for her cell phone.

" _Yeah, this is Dean; I'm probably out doing my thing. You know what to do."_

"Dammit, Dean," Tabitha growls in frustration. "This is the third message I've left for you. Pick up your damn phone!" She pauses and then tries to more sedately tell him, "Whatever it is you and Castiel are up to, _don't_. Don't let that dumb angel do it." She sighs, knowing the answering service will cut her off before she can really give him a piece of her mind like he deserves. "Just…call me back you asshole."

She tosses the phone back onto the rumpled bed. There is nothing she can do to stop or help Castiel for the time being. She doesn't even have a clue where he and her younger brother are at the moment. But she can try to make amends with Cort. If she can find where he's gone anyway.

But first, she needs to take another shower.

Her fist knots the sheet tightly to her chest as she peers into the bathroom, expecting to see shattered glass strewn across the tile floor. She nearly gasps when she sees the room in perfect order, as though the night before hadn't even happened.

The tightening in the still sensitized muscles of her body reminds her that it had been real, and as sated as she still feels, her body coyly brings to mind the erotic shower she'd taken with Castiel the night before.

Her bracelet jingles against her wrist, and she twists it until the angel wing charm is pressed into her palm. She almost swears it is still slightly warm, and the reminder of Castiel sends a shiver through her body. Followed by a loud growl from her stomach, reminding her of the many hours since she burned off her meal of oysters. She'd ended up using both of Cort's suggestions to burn off her meal, but she had to say, the dancing wasn't nearly the caloric workout as the other. And not nearly as bone-wrenchingly exhausting and satisfying either.

With another involuntary shiver, she deliberately drops the sheet on the floor and starts forward for what will be a decidedly cold shower. Perhaps the cold spray will help to refocus her mind on the apology she knows Cort is doubly owed…even if she has no intention of telling him about her late night visitor.

* * *

Cort truly is a magnificent specimen, she thinks to herself. Even covered in a layer of sweat. His brow seems perpetually furrowed as his tape wrapped hands pound an intense rhythm at the speed bag, punching a little harder every time the small bag swings back at him. His muscles are corded, striking out repeatedly with amazing speed and force at the bag. Each time his fist strikes out at the bag, it snaps back to a ready position framing his face.

He had to have been at it for hours by the sweat slicking his skin, but his form is still flawless.

"Picturing my head?" she asks him giving him a reserved smile.

With his eyes, he glances over at where she leans against the wall, but keeps his head facing his speed bag, his pounding fists never slowing their fierce beat.

"No, not you ma chére," he tightly replies.

"I'd probably have it coming."

He doesn't acknowledge her comment.

"I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you after…" she lamely tries again.

Cort finally stops his staccato beat, his hands grabbing at the speed bag to hold it still. "You trying to talk me into something, or trying to apologize again, Tabitha?"

"I guess apologize," she mumbles, looking down.

"Don't," he shortly returns, stepping away to grab a water bottle from a nearby stool. "I asked you to give us a chance. I knew the risks I was running. Not your fault."

"It kinda is," she continues muttering to the floor, wincing at the thought of how his tune would change if he knew everything that had happened after he'd stormed off last night.

"I'm a grown damn man," he growls, "I'm responsible for my own choices. Not you."

He finally turns back towards her, his angry scowl dissipating with a visible effort. "How'd you know where I was?"

Finally hearing some of the anger bleed from his voice, she looks up to reply, "I remembered you telling me years ago that you liked to box when you needed to take your mind off things. This was the nearest boxing gym I could find that was open all night."

Shaking his head, he wipes his face with a towel and murmurs to himself, "Only you would have known and remembered something like that."

Flipping the towel over his shoulder, his eyes skim over her, taking in the sight of her own workout clothes and wrapped fists.

"You come to get a workout in, too?"

Heat suffuses her cheeks a little as she grins but admits, "Wasn't sure how mad you'd be at me. Thought I should be ready for anything."

His brows nearly hit his hairline. "You think I'd ever hit a woman? Come, chérie, you know me better than that."

Though he laughs a little though to show he isn't offended, taking one of her hands in his to examine her tape job. "You know how to wrap a hand well," he compliments.

"Dean did teach me to box after you and I dated. He said he wanted me to be able to take care of myself. Not like I didn't already know how to fight from both Bobby and Dad though."

Cort tugs her over to a heavy bag, gesturing at some boxing gloves and telling her, "Let's see what you got."

She waves the gloves away. "Dad always said it was best to practice without the gloves. Not like you're gonna have them when you're hunting something anyway. And I did tape my hands for a little added protection and support."

"True enough," he agrees, positioning himself behind the bag. "Careful of your punches though, don't break nothing in your hand."

Bouncing lightly on her feet, she takes several hard jabs at the bag, shifting her weight as she changes it up with hooks and undercuts as well. By thirty or so punches, she's beginning to get back into the groove, but also beginning to feel the burn of muscles she hasn't utilized in a while.

An hour later, Cort steps away from the bag, calling for her to stop. "That's enough, Tab, your form's slipping."

"I know," she nods, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Been a long time since I really worked the heavy bag. I'm exhausted, but it feels good. Good reminder that I should be practicing that a bit more once I'm out on the road again, too."

Although he'd been walking away, Cort tenses and then turns back towards her. "You leaving?"

"It's time, Cort. I've worn out my welcome, I think," she replies as she begins unwinding the tape from her hands.

"I didn't say that."

"You wouldn't. Wouldn't even think it. But that doesn't make it any less true."

Cort blows an annoyed puff of air past his lips. "Momma Cecile said you'd know when it was time to leave the city. When you'd seen a ring or something. That ain't happened yet," he doggedly insists.

"Why do you want me to stay, Cort, when all I've done is hurt you?" she wants to know, puzzled by his almost frantic desperation to get her to stay.

Suddenly, Cort is in front of her again, not touching her, but the heat from his body licking across her skin. "Guess part of me thinks it due penance for hurtin' you those years ago. But part of me also knows that if you leave now, I'll lose any hope forever of winning you back."

"I'm not a prize to win," she tells him, stepping back from his overwhelming presence.

"No, you're not," he readily agrees. "But I still think if you stay and give us a chance, we could make it work. We were good together once."

"A long time ago," she reminds him.

"Not so long ago. I still see it in my dreams."

"I don't," she gently whispers, hoping to spare him some pain and gently placing her hand on his chest before taking another step back from him. Her eyes linger briefly on the angle wing charm at her wrist.

"I'm not that girl anymore. And I can't be again. That girl wanted a man she could idolize and worship. The woman I became isn't happy with hero-worship. She wants someone as flawed as she is who'd move Heaven and Hell for her. And who she'd move Heaven and Hell for in return."

"And you think this guy is it? This guy who's hurt you and doesn't even love you?" he spits, looking away to hide the pain in his eyes.

"I don't know," she concedes. "All I know is I've already crossed a lot of lines for him already."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing. Certainly not a healthy thing, Tab."

"Maybe not," she easily agrees. "But I can't change that I feel…something for him."

"You love him," he bitterly answers to himself, still avoiding her eyes.

"Didn't say that. But it's something."

Turning back to her with a piecing look, he entreats one last time, "Stay. It's not the time for you to leave yet. I'm not ready for this to be the end."

Picking up the bag she'd carried in and shouldering it, she starts for the door. "Regardless of how long Momma Cecile cryptically said I could stay, it's time for me to leave."

Cort jogs after her onto the street. "It's dangerous out there. You got demons hunting you still, right? Be safer here."

"For how long?"

"Probably not long," a voice casually throws out from an alleyway.

Cort and Tabitha both stop cold in their tracks, cautiously turning towards the alley and the suited figure intently watching them.

"Of course," he casually continues, slender hands straightening his red tie, "you won't ever have to worry about them again."

Cort maneuvers between her and the stranger, but Tabitha discreetly tugs at his elbow, warningly hissing, "He's an angel. We need to get out of here. _Now_."

Suddenly, the angel is before them, his hand reaching out to touch Cort's forehead before she can pull him back. The simple touch causes Cort to crumple at Tabitha's feet, just as she'd seen angels do to others before.

The angel quickly reaches out to touch her forehead, but heaves a resigned shrug when nothing happens.

A long, silver looking stake or blade falls down his sleeve into his hand.

With the weapon poised in the air, he tells her, "Guess we'll do it the messy way then. Zachariah sends his regards."

Tabitha throws her arms instinctively over her head, knowing it's pointless and that in mere moments she'll be dead.

But the blow never comes.

Tabitha opens her eyes to see another angel standing behind the first, his dark eyes squinting as he holds the handle of an identical blade imbedded through the back of the first angel's neck.

"And Azrael sends her regards as well," the deep graveled voice tells the first angel as an explosion of light rushes from the vessel's mouth.

The new angel's vessel is that of an old man, wrinkled and creased, but giving him a craggy sort of appearance that is still imposing and impressive in his impeccable black suit. The accent was a slow southern drawl, but she knows better than to associate a vessel's accent with the angel inside it.

Together, angel and human look down at the empty vessel that collapses to the ground at their feet, an eerie black outline of angel wings stretching the entire length of the alley around them.

Finding her voice, Tabitha asks in a stunned tone, "Who's Azrael?" All the while wondering if this angel will try to kill her, too. Perhaps he'd just wanted to be the one to do the actual deed.

"You were made for her," the imposing angel answers matter-of-factly, his head tilting in a way that reminds her of Castiel as the strange angel watches her.

"Pam," Tabitha whispers to herself, understanding dawning, even if she still doesn't know who exactly Azrael is.

"She wants me alive," she continues whispering. Scowling at the empty vessel at their feet, she goes on, "I still don't understand why Zachariah wants me dead though if I'm this chick's vessel."

"Because Zachariah and his faction would do anything to keep Azrael from her vessel. But the followers of Azrael…" the angel trails off in a weary sigh weighted by unfathomable millennium. "We have made peace. We are ready for the End our Father prophesied."

Tabitha begins slowly backing away from the angel. She throws a regretful look at where Cort lies unconscious, but neither of the angels had seemed even slightly interested in him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not interested in being her vessel, so you can send my regrets," Tabitha shoots back, her muscles bunching as she gathers herself to flee like the scared rabbit Momma Cecile had praised her for not being. Truth is, she's not unafraid of things like the old woman said. She simply knows when to hold her ground and when to run for the hills. Facing a powerful angel with unclear motives seems to be an excellent time for some hill running.

"Not even to stop the war that's coming? Not even to stop Lucifer and Michael from taking hold of your brothers? Not even to save the lives of the millions that would be killed if Lucifer and Michael join in battle again?"

She'd been half turned away, her muscles even beginning to push her weight off from her back foot. But she stops cold at his words. Frozen in place by them.

"You're saying that letting this Azrael chick nosedive into me will somehow accomplish all that? That she can really stop it all?"

Pam…or rather, Azrael had told her much the same, but she hadn't quite believed it then. She still isn't sure if it's really true. Somehow, she'd known that strange, old Aramaic passage written by Nahara had to do with her and Azrael. But Momma Cecile had expressly told her that she _couldn't_ let that prophecy come true. Whatever it was.

So did that mean she couldn't let Azrael take control of her, or that she _should_?

"She is the only angel granted the power by our Father to stop them," he rushes to assure her.

Ever so slowly, the angel steps towards her, his hand lifted in the direction of her forehead.

Her face wrinkles as she leans slightly back and watches him, explaining, "I don't know why you're even trying, you angels can't ever do anything to me when you touch me like that."

The nameless angel's face splits into a sardonic smile. "Perhaps Zachariah and his followers don't have the power, but Azrael's powers are far beyond his. Though he has devised a wonderful…educational trip for your brother. Azrael has been inspired to grant you the same. I may not have her power, but I am just delivering her gift to you. She wishes you to see what will happen if you do not acquiesce to her."

Certain that nothing will happen when the angel touches her—just like every other time—Tabitha holds her ground, watching as his fingers inch closer to lightly touch her forehead.

Light explodes behind her eyes as she crumples to the ground.

* * *

Moaning, Tabitha pushes her aching body from the dirty carpeted floor where she'd been laying.

With confused glances, she sees that she was sprawled out on the floor just inside the main entrance of Cort's house. But nothing looks like it should.

Everything was there. But so many things were askew in the house, and thick layers of dust coat everything, including the musty carpet she pushes herself up from.

"What the hell?" she mutters to herself, baffled not only by how she'd gone from that alleyway to Cort's house, but the utter shambles Cort's beautiful home is now in. She might have been inclined to believe that everything in the alleyway had been some freaky dream, save for the fact that she knew there was no way she would wake up to find Cort's house so filthy.

Yet, there she stood, surrounded by the squalor that had once been his gorgeous mansion.

Creeping further into the house, she softly calls out for Cort, unnerved by the sensation that she's in a bad horror movie and that at any second, an axe murderer is going to jump out to chop her into little bits and grind her bones to make his bread.

"You've watched too many cheesy horror movies, Winchester," she scolds herself, trying to shove the ominous feeling away. But she still half expects an eerie music score to start playing at any second.

Coming around the corner into the kitchen, she lets out a muffled scream.

"Christ," she mutters as she bites back the surprised yell.

Facing away from her in the kitchen is the familiar height and bulk of the man she'd been searching for.

"Damn, Cort. What the heck is going on here? What happened to this place?"

He doesn't move or acknowledge her as she creeps closer.

"Cort?"

As she reaches out to touch his shoulder, he suddenly twists to face her, swiping a hand out low towards her midsection.

Acting solely on instinct, she jerks away, but not before a searing pain bursts in her hip. Too late, she realizes he'd been holding a long carving knife from the kitchen.

"What the hell, Cort?!" she shouts, but he's still coming at her, knife slashing dangerously through the air.

Trying to keep out of range from the knife, she twists in a circle, her stronger right leg lifting in the air to deliver a roundhouse kick. His greater height meant the blow didn't land to his head like it was designed, but the kick to his shoulder does knock him off balance, sending him sideways into the center island as more pain radiates from her hip and thigh.

But he's far from down. Grabbing a large pot from the counter, she arcs the pot through the air towards his lowered head, bringing it down forcefully against the back of his skull.

As he sprawls on the floor, she takes a second to stare at his strange appearance. His clothes are dirty and tattered, and his hair is so tangled and knotted it looks as if a rat had tried to nest in it.

"Agh!" he inhumanly growls, the knife sweeping out low from his body at her.

She neatly jumps over the path of the blade, ignoring the throbbing pain in her hip, but is stunned to see him pushing to his feet again. The blow should have knocked him out.

"Dammit, Cort," she growls while backing away. "It's me. It's Tabitha."

He continues pulling himself to his feet, a strangely predatory and murderous look in so vacant a stare.

"Shit!" she swears again while turning to flee, with Cort hot on her heels.

Running through the hallway, she slows only enough to overturn tables and shelving in her wake, trying to slow his pursuit. But he's only slowed as much as she is by her efforts.

At the doorway on her left, she pushes the heavy door open into Cort's garage, slamming it shut again in Cort's face. As he screams and beats at the door, she pushes against it while reaching over to the metal shelving along the wall, pulling with all her strength to slide it and its contents in front of the door.

It helps, but Cort is still straining, trying to push open the door and move the shelf, too.

Frantically casting about, she sees his motorcycle sitting in the middle of the garage.

She pauses as she runs towards it, detouring to Cort's large metal weapons locker to grab what she can, stuffing an old backpack with as many supplies as it can hold. Something tells her she'll need it. Surprisingly, she hadn't been dressed in the workout clothes she last remembered wearing, but in cargo pants and her leather coat. She zips it as she slaps a hand against the garage door opener.

It doesn't open.

Indeed, she realizes that the only light in the garage is the sunlight spilling in through the narrow window high along the wall.

"What is going on?" she wonders to herself once more, jumping to grab the trip cord along the track of the door, unlocking the rolling garage door so she can push it up manually.

As she starts Cort's Harley, she realizes the sounds of Cort trying to break down the door from inside the house have ceased. Gunning it, she slips through the open door just as Cort starts around the corner from the front door, having to duck low over the motorcycle to avoid his knife once more.

A half hour later, she pulls up in front of The House of the Rising Sun.

Momma Cecile's house looks much like Cort's house had, and indeed, the rest of the city. She'd seen some people out on the streets, but like Cort, they'd all run after her, murderous screams in their throats, and dead looks in their eyes.

The answer to what they were came as she slowed down by the courthouse downtown. "Croatoan" was spray-painted on the brick wall in an alley.

She hadn't encountered the Croatoan virus with her brothers, but she'd heard about it from Bobby when he'd enlisted her initial help to clean up the town where the boys had encountered it. But by the time she'd sent CDC there with a story about a possible anthrax outbreak, everyone had vanished.

Still, she knows all the signs of the virus from Bobby and having read Chuck's book about it. Thankfully, she'd waded through Chuck's overly porn-esque filled writing since they met the man. Not that it explains how she'd awakened to a city nearly emptied of anything but Crotes.

Her attempts to call for Castiel have also proven fruitless. All that had been accomplished was screaming herself hoarse. Either he wasn't answering, or… She doesn't want to think of the alternative.

Her last ditch hope is that Momma Cecile might have some answers, but the now ramshackle house gives her pause.

Deciding to take a look since she is already at the house, she leaves the motorcycle and inches carefully towards the house. It is ominously silent.

As she climbs the steps to the covered porch, she holds her shotgun low, and then taps the 9 mm in her waistband to reassure herself that it is still there.

"Momma Cecile?" she softly calls, praying that the old woman is still alive to give her some answers, even if it is her usual vague bullshit.

Hand on the door to push it open, she calls out again a little louder, "Momma—"

Her call is cut off as she flies backwards through the air, landing hard on her back against the wood decking of the porch.

"This is your fault," a woman spits from above her.

Tabitha looks up to see Momma Cecile's not-so-friendly ghost bent over her, an angry glare in her eyes.

"You let her in only to get trapped. Now we're _all_ trapped here! You never should have said 'yes!'" the ghost screams, lunging for her throat.

Tabitha rolls, bringing the shotgun up between them to fire a rock salt round into the ghost. Continuing her roll, she drops off the porch and runs for the motorcycle, knowing that Momma Cecile had to be gone if her ghost has gone vengeful like that.

There's only one long shot prayer left now.

Her motorcycle isn't alone when she runs to it. The angel from the alleyway leans causally against it.

"What did you do?" she demands.

Somehow though, she already knows the answer. "This is some kind of future field trip, isn't it?" Somehow, she'd already known that she is somewhere in the future.

"You could say that."

"How'd you even find me?"

"I've been following some of Zachariah's followers in hopes of finding you."

"How'd Zach's guy find me then?" she wants to know.

He shrugs, completely unconcerned. "He's been tapping fringe Christian groups."

"The bible thumper," she speaks to herself remembering the man that had approached her and Cort near Momma Cecile's place. "So, who are you supposed to be? Doc Brown? You're old and gray like him."

His eyes narrow in confusion. "I am Israfil, one of Azrael's loyal followers."

"What is all this Back to the Future crap?" she asks him, waving an arm around the area.

"This is the year 2014. And this is what will happen if you wait too long and don't align yourself with Azrael before it's too late."

And with his portent of doom, he disappears again.

Climbing back on the motorcycle, she prays that her next stop won't also prove so useless. Or dangerous.

* * *

"Bobby?!" Tabitha yells as she climbs over the debris-field of Bobby's house.

She doesn't call out again as she surveys the wreckage. Her gut tells her that his house wouldn't look like this if Bobby were still alive and well.

At the bottom of the stairs, she spots his overturned wheelchair, bullet holes through the back.

"Oh, Bobby," she sighs as she crouches near it gingerly touching the holes through the vinyl back.

Wood creaking near the side door brings her attention back to the present. Backing away, she steps into the shadows and flattens herself against the wall.

As someone eases into the room, Tabitha reaches out to grab the lead arm holding the handgun, yanking forward on the arm to pull him off balance and turning into him as she drives her knee into the man's sternum.

He stumbles back as she strips the gun from his hand, sputtering and coughing as he stares at her in shock.

"Tabitha?"

"Dean?"

He steps towards her, but falls back gripping his nose when she delivers a mean left hook.

"What the hell was that for, Tabitha?!" he nasally demands as he holds his bleeding nose.

"What year are you from?" she demands in return.

His eyes widen in understanding as he wipes away some of the blood. "2009, same as you I'm guessing."

Her eyes narrow in anger. "Then I owe you more than one punch," she declares as Dean nervously takes a step back from her advancing form.

"What for?"

She points an accusing finger at her older brother. "How 'bout for starters, not calling me back after leaving you several messages." Suddenly remembering her last message in particular, she stops her forward progression and asks, "Speaking of, did you and Cas follow through on that dumb plan of his? Is he all right?"

Dean seems confused by her question, but wipes away the last trickles of blood from under his nose. "How'd you know about that? And why's it matter?"

"I saw him," she quickly answers. "Is he okay?"

His frown deepens as he stares at the blood on his sleeve. "I can't believe you just punched me."

Stepping forward threateningly, she warns him, "I could have broken your dang nose if I really wanted to, and you and I both know it. Stop being a baby, and tell me if Cas is okay!"

"He's fine," Dean answers, meeting her narrowed gaze. "Why do you care anyway? I swear, I can't keep track of whether or not the two of you are pissed at each other, or secret BFFs again."

"We're just friends," she hastens to tell him.

He gives his sister a suspicious look. "Don't get me wrong, I like Cas; he's a good guy…for an angel anyway. But the two of you are more on again off again as friends than a pair of twelve-year-old girls. If you're gonna be pissed at him, be pissed at him, but stop letting him yank you around and play you like he's been doing. You're expecting too much out of the dude for friendship. He's an angel, Tab."

"I know what he is," she snaps. "And I just wanted to know if he was all right."

She steps away and looks around at the wreckage again.

"How'd you end up here?" Dean finally asks. "Zach send you here, too? He didn't mention it."

"No. Some jackass named Israfil."

"Who?"

She continues looking down where she'd crouched to sort through a pile of discarded books. All from Bobby's extensive lore collection.

"Some follower of Azrael's I guess."

"Still means nothing to me."

Looking up, she shrugs self-consciously. "She's the chick that wants to wear my skin like a bad horror movie psycho. Says I'm her vessel. Did you listen to _any_ of my messages? I told you about this angel, _Pam_ , that said I was her vessel."

Dean avoids her eyes, stepping over to the mantel to open one of Bobby's secret compartments above the fireplace. "Didn't see the point in listening to your messages," he shrugs. "But I'm not surprised, I guess. Those dick angels seem to have plans for all of us. Michael wants me—which, come on, who can blame him—Lucifer wants Sam, and now this chick wants you. Who is she to them anyway?"

Tabitha follows her brother in time to see him pull out their father's journal. "I guess Azrael is their sister. Least that's what she told me. And how do you know about Sam and Lucifer? Azrael was the one that told me."

Flipping through the journal and still avoiding her, Dean absently answers, "Sam called to tell me."

Pushing down on the journal in his hands, Tabitha angrily demands, "So you'll take _Sam's_ calls, but not _mine_?! What the hell?"

Finally looking up, Dean snaps, "You took off. Figured you were doing just fine on your own."

"So did Sam," she's quick to point out. "But you still took his call. I just needed time to get things together in my head, but there's been a lot going on that I could have used my big brother's input on."

"Figured that was why you went to Cort. To get his _input_ ," he condescendingly shoots back. "Bobby said you hightailed it straight for his arms. And I saw his bike out front when I got here."

Folding her arms over her chest, Tabitha demands, "So? What does it matter where I went? I needed a place to stay, and Cort was a good enough friend to offer me a room at his place."

With thumping steps, Dean angrily stomped around his sister, snidely telling her, "Yeah, _his_ room I bet."

Quickly reaching out, Tabitha yanks her brother to a stop by his elbow. "As a matter of fact, no. Not that it's _any_ of your business. And why have you got your panties in such a twist over this anyway?"

Her brother sidesteps until he's back in front of her. "Just strikes me that your lying traces back to _him_. Before he showed up again and you started sleeping with him, you used to tell me _everything_. You came to me about gettin' your darn period for crying out loud! We were a team. You and me looking after Sammy and protecting him. Helpin' take care of Dad when he'd had too much after a bad hunt. But you take up with Cort, and the lies start." His voice rises to a high, mocking pitch. "' _No, I'm not sleeping with Cort, Dean. Why would you think such a crazy thing like that_?'" Shaking a furious fist in her face, he continues, "But I saw you leaving his motel room back then. And I swear, you never stopped lying to me after that. You and I were never a team again like we had been. When you left with Sammy, you were supposed to watch over him, but you turned your back on him, too. Started doing your own thing, and left him alone. Let evil find him again."

Tabitha falls back at the infuriated onslaught from her brother. She realizes now that there had been a distance between them that had only grown since she was seventeen. She'd just never traced it back to the moment in time that she and Cort had briefly dated.

His bitterness towards her after she and Sam left, and then after she returned, seems to make sense now. They'd mostly gotten along since she started hunting with her brothers again, and she knows Dean still loves her, but there has always an underlying strain, a resentment towards her that she's never quite been able to put her finger on.

Worse yet, everything he'd said and accused her of was true. She can't defend herself.

"You're right," she carefully admits. "I did all that. I never realized I was the one that caused such a rift between us." He looks away from her, but not before she sees the pained glint of abandonment in his eyes. He'd forgiven Sam for leaving, but he couldn't forgive her because before Cort came along, it had always been Dean and Tabitha together as a team. They protected Sam and shielded him from their father as best they could. Sam choosing to leave had been hard for him, but she sees now how truly traitorous it had been in his eyes that _she_ had left him behind.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she tries again. "I was young and just wanted to have a chance at a normal life. I never meant to…leave you behind like that. And I know I didn't always tell you everything in my life, but I was seventeen. The days of me telling you everything in my life were passing. I grew up, Dean. And part of growing up was that I couldn't tell you everything in my life anymore. I'm your _sister_ , Dean. Did you really want me telling you about the first guy I ever slept with, or how painful that first time was? And how wonderful the other times after that were."

Dean grimaces and looks a little green around the gills.

"Exactly," she quickly points out. "I couldn't tell you about Cort. Not after all the lectures you'd given me about never dating or sleeping with a hunter. You were my big brother, and even though I didn't regret my choices, I didn't want to disappoint you. And you have to take some of the responsibility here, too. I can't tell you how many times I lied to you because there was no other choice."

"Oh, now it's _my_ fault you been lying to me for so many years? Try again, Tab," he defensively demands.

"I made those choices, but I didn't always have many other options than to lie to you. You don't always make it easy to tell you the truth. For _me…_ or for Sammy. Neither of us wants to disappoint you. And you make it impossible to tell you the truth when we know damn well you're just gonna fly off the handle if we do."

"I do not," he stubbornly maintains.

"Yeah, ya do," she answers, her lips curling in anger at his stubborn streak. She ticks the list off with her fingers. "One, the whole Cort thing…which goes back _way_ longer than I ever realized. Two, me sleeping with Collin. You totally freaked out about that when you found out. Three, you finding out I could hear and see angels. Four, the demon blood, marking or brand thingy—"

He interrupts. "And every one of those times you lied to me about it instead of telling me the truth!"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "If you really think you would have reacted _any_ differently, then you're delusional." Seeing he's about to argue again, she steps in front of him, saying, "Remember when I was twelve and kissed my first boy on the playground? You punched him so hard, you knocked out a tooth, Dean. And _I_ kissed _him_! Or remember when I was fifteen and I snuck out to go to the movies with that boy down in Greenback? You threatened him and yelled and screamed in the theatre so much I thought they were gonna call the cops on you. Or what about—"

"Fine, I get the picture," he snaps. "But those were all times you were with guys too old for you and doing things you weren't ready for yet. And you shouldn't have lied to me about what you were doing anyway."

"I can name a dozen other times you got mad at me for something that I _really_ wish I'd lied to you about instead. And are you saying you want me to give full disclosure about every guy I've slept with and disclose every time in the future what guys I _will_ sleep with? Maybe I should give you a call every time…just to run it by you," she flatly responds.

"Whatever," he growls. "Fine. You made your point. I don't need to know about the dudes in your life. But the rest of it, you need to stop lying about."

"I've been trying to call you to keep you informed about what's going on," she points out. " _You_ were the one not taking my calls. And you've _got_ to start being a little more understanding when Sam and I _do_ tell you things you don't like or wanna hear, otherwise we'll both stop telling you the truth again."

"We need to just all go our own ways," he sighs to her. "You ever stop to think about all the messes we get each other into because we're trying to _help_ each other? You'd still be with the FBI for one—if we had just stayed away from each other. We're each others' Achilles' heel—all three of us—and we need to start waking up and realizing that the bad guys are just gonna keep using us against each other every time."

Raising her chin, she responds, "I don't agree with that. We're stronger together. Being apart…just means we're getting into trouble on our own. Making stupid choices _without_ each other to back us up on our choices."

He ignores her comment, but finally glances at her hip, frowning a little at the dried blood staining her cargo pants.

"What happened?" he inquires, nodding to the dried blood.

"Cort," she answers in a clipped tone. Softening a little, she explains. "I woke up there in New Orleans and he and everyone else had turned into Crotes." With a negating hand gesture, she continues, "I'm fine though. What do you think is going on though?"

She'd had some gauze padding from the supplies she grabbed at Cort's that she'd stuffed in the side of her pants to stop the bleeding. The pain was only dull now anyway, but she hadn't had the time to really look at it. From the amount of blood, she fears it might need stitches, but doesn't want to take the time now to do it.

"Not sure," he mutters in reply, opening the journal again.

"You think Sammy is somewhere here, too?" Tabitha asks as he leafs through the yellowed pages of the journal. "And what are we supposed to be learning on this field trip? I mean, what even happened here?"

Dean pauses as he pulls out an old black and white photo. "This might have some answers," he says, handing the photo to her.

She sees Bobby in his wheel chair at the center of a group, Castiel standing behind and off to his left a little, and three other men she doesn't recognize. All of them are posing holding shotguns next to a wooden sign that reads: Camp Chitaqua.

"Camp Chitaqua," Dean declares. "Might get some answers there."

Nodding, she agrees. "It's our best and only real lead at the moment."

* * *

It's dark when Dean and Tabitha drive up to the outskirts of Camp Chitaqua in the car Dean had stolen. They'd left Cort's bike behind at Bobby's to travel together. Not only had it been more efficient, it also gave them the opportunity to fill each other in.

Dean explained Castiel's attempt to extract the location of God from Raphael, and their failure to get anything useful from him. And she gave him the lowdown on what the translated verse from the Campbell family bible read, as well as her encounters with the angel she now knows to be Azrael.

She continued to leave out Castiel's visit, deciding to adhere to Dean's decree that he didn't need to know about the guys in her life. She figures angels count, too.

"But you still don't know who this chick is or anything about her other than that she'd like to slip you on and wear you around?" Dean quietly asks as they edge closer to the camp and the sign they recognize from the photo.

"I only found out her name from that jackass just before sent me here. I haven't had time to see if there's any lore on her. And I still haven't figured out what that passage really means, other than that I'm apparently _not_ supposed to let whatever it is happen," she huffs in return.

"We'll figure it out, Tabby," Dean tells her over his shoulder, his tone softer with her than it has been in a long time. "But first, we've got to figure out how to get back to the past." He shakes his head as they continue, muttering to himself, "I can't believe I just said that."

Dean's hand suddenly swipes out to hold her back as they approach a fence and see guards walking by. He silently gestures her for silence. She nods in agreement.

"Oh, baby, no," he moans as he stares through the fence once the guards are gone.

She starts to ask what he's upset about, but then spots the Impala. Dented, rusty, and obviously abandoned. It almost seems as if more than five years have passed. Certainly five hard years.

They climb the fence easily without being spotted, but Dean mournfully detours to the car, stooping to look in through the missing driver's door.

"Ohhh. Baby, what did they do to you?" he bemoans.

"Get over it, Dean. Let's go," she warns as she looks watchfully towards the center of the camp for anyone that might spot them.

Hearing a grunt and a thud, she turns to look back at Dean.

But sees him standing over…himself.

The second Dean isn't dressed like the first even though their faces are identical, and there's a hard look in his eyes as he stares across the unconscious Dean at her.

They stand in a tableau for a minute, neither hardly daring to breathe as each waits for the other to move first. After a long minute has passed, Dean begins cautiously walking towards her, almost a fearful hesitation to his steps.

"You're the Dean from this future, aren't you?" she slowly asks him.

He frowns in confusion as he draws closer, and then before she can react, he raises his shotgun and swings it at the side of her head.

Dazed, she almost doesn't react at all to him swinging the shotgun at her, but barely manages to lean back from the blow.

Still, the butt of the shotgun catches her temple, and she drops to the ground, her eyes fluttering as she helplessly watches the future version of her brother pick up the one she came with, hoisting the slumped body over his shoulder.

Then, her eyes stop fluttering and close.

* * *

When she wakes, it's to that eerie feeling of being watched. But when she opens her eyes, all she sees is a dirty mattress pressed against her face. Only the flickering light of a burning lantern illuminates the room. Struggling for her equilibrium, she sits up, her movements hampered by her legs being tied together by thick rope and one of her hands is cuffed to a strong eyebolt driven into the wood floor next to the mattress.

"Owww!" she dramatically says as she struggles to sit up and face her brother.

One look at his hardened gaze is all it takes to tell her this one is the future version of him.

"Since when did you start hitting me?" she demands, rubbing her temple with her free hand and feeling the dried blood flaking off onto her fingertips. Even when they'd sparred together growing up when he'd been teaching her, he'd always been so careful never to actually hit her.

He doesn't answer, simply remains motionless where he stands, staring down at her without a shred of emotion on his face and a shotgun cradled in his arms.

"You gonna say something, or just mutely stare at me? 'Cause that's kinda creepy, Dean. Or Future-Dean. Whatever. Is that what you do in the future now? Just stand around and stare. Or did you get kicked in the head by a mule and can't talk now?"

"Why do you keep saying future?" he suddenly asks.

"Because to me, _this_ is the future. An asshole angel sent me here. And in the future, apparently you become kinda a dick. You wanna let me go now? I'm guessing you've already established that I'm not a shapeshifter, demon, or anything else."

"No. You ain't going anywhere."

She frowns at his uncompromising answer. "You know what, Future-Dean is really getting on my last nerve, and I've got a pounding headache, so why don't you _kiss off_ and send in Future-Me or something. And where is my brother, anyway? The one I came with. He's certainly not here," she says, looking around the cabin empty of any furniture save for the mattress she's sitting on.

Crouching low to put his eyes level with hers, Future-Dean harshly answers, "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but it's not gonna work. Salt, iron, and silver may not work on you now, but they never did, have they, bitch? I don't know what you're doing off your leash or pretending to be weak, but if you really _are_ weakened for some reason, no way am I letting you go." Standing, he viciously adds, "And if I knew what was good for this camp, I'd gank your ass now and make sure you can't ever serve your master again."

Before she can even lean back from the blow this time, the shotgun butt again connects with her temple.

* * *

Sunlight streams through the closed windows the next time she opens her eyes. Thankfully, she doesn't feel the watchful burning eyes of her asshole future brother.

"I'm gonna bust your nose and more," she growls as she pushes up once more.

Just as before, her legs are bound and her hand is cuffed to the eyebolt in the floor.

But on the dusty floor near the mattress is a plate with what looks like Spam, only slightly moldy bread, and a glass of cloudy water.

"Yummy," she intones, but doesn't touch any of it, almost expecting it to be poisoned from the venom in her future brother's voice. Saying he had become an asshole was a complete understatement. He'd become certifiable.

She tugs on her handcuff, wondering how to slip out of them. As a Fed, she'd learned more than a few ways get out of cuffs—most she'd already known from her father and Dean. But the most expedient way out of handcuffs—without tools anyway—was to dislocate your thumb. Not a very tempting thought, but something she knows she'll do if she has to.

But there were other ways to find tools, even if there was nothing in sight. And luckily, even her future brother doesn't know as much about women as he always thought he did.

Shimmying around, she manages to pull her bra off and slide it down her cuffed arm past her hand. Then, it only takes a matter of minutes to work the underwire out from the cup of one bra.

Before five minutes have passed, she's gotten herself uncuffed, untied, and redressed.

At first, she wanders through the camp, carefully avoiding the people wandering about. But there are enough buildings that she isn't sure she'll be able to find wherever Future-Dean has locked up her brother.

Seeing a woman standing by herself alongside one cabin, Tabitha ambles over, hoping that the woman will simply think it's the future version of herself as she taps the woman's shoulder.

"Hey, have you seen my brother?" she kindly asks the woman.

The small brunette turns to face her, terror settling over her face when she sees her. With a deep inhale, a scream builds in the brunette's throat. Tabitha starts to step forward to silence the woman, but is left standing in shock when she faints and crumples to the ground in a heap at Tabitha's feet.

"Wow," she utters to herself in disbelief, totally baffled by the strange response.

Looking across the way at another row of cabins, she sees her brother approaching one of them.

She pauses, but realizes by his hesitant steps and familiar clothing, that he is indeed her brother and not the future asshole he becomes.

"Dean!" she softly calls, trying not to raise her voice. When he doesn't hear her, she darts across the dirt road to get his attention.

"Tabitha!" he exclaims, backing off the steps to the cabin he'd been approaching. "Damn I'm glad to see a familiar face that's not trying to hit me or something."

Letting him pull her into a hug, and wrapping her own arms gratefully him in return, she finally breathes a sigh of relief.

"Had a run-in with Future-You, huh?" she chuckles.

"Yeah, him and some chick he's apparently been ducking," he explains, pushing back from her.

"Somehow, I find that hilarious that you're finally getting the guff you deserve for your bed-hopping," she laughs.

Ignoring her jab, he tenderly touches her temple. "What the hell happened? I've been looking for you, but I wouldn't tell me where you were."

Shaking her head at the strange sentence, she comments, "I think that's too many pronouns to wrap my head around." But she waves it off. "Yeah, future you is kind of a dick. No offense. What the hell happened here in the future? I tried talking to you…er…Future-Dean, but he wouldn't hardly say anything to me, and what he did say I don't understand, and then he knocked me out. _Again_."

Gesturing around the camp, Dean tells her, "Apparently these are some survivors that I have brought here to fight the Croatoan epidemic. I guess that's the Devil's endgame. Sounds like the world really goes to hell in the next five years."

"Awesome," she mutters. "Have you seen Sam? Ours _or_ theirs?"

Dean shifts from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable and reluctant. "Apparently he didn't make it. Went down in Detroit. I was a little vague with me on the details. I don't think our Sam is here either. I doubt Lucifer would send him here like our angel pals did."

"What about me?" Tabitha whispers, almost hating herself for even asking. Between Future-Dean and Fainting Woman, something tells her that there's a bad story behind her as well.

"Told me you didn't make it, either," he utters, barely audible.

"Guess that explains why some chick fainted at the sight of me," she tells herself.

Wrapping her arms around her torso, she recounts the tally. "So, in this future—according to some jackass angels anyway—Bobby's dead, Sam's dead, I'm dead, and you're a total ass. Not to mention the whole world going to the Crotes thing."

"Yeah," he grimly agrees. "I think we should get the hell out of here. Chuck said this was Cas's cabin, so let's find that little angel and get him to send our asses back home. This place is creeping me out."

Tabitha smiles almost against her better judgment. "Chuck…as in _our_ Porny-Chuck, or Future-Porny-Chuck?"

"You've got to stop calling him Porny-Chuck."

"Hey, if the erotic novel fits," she mumbles. "I've read his stuff; he makes me sound like I'm Jenna Jameson or something."

Dean tactfully ignores her words. "Yeah, it was Future him or whatever, he didn't recognize me at all. Thought I was my future version." Gesturing up the steps he'd started up before she called, he tells her, "Let's go find Cas. Get him to send us home."

"Sure," she agrees, smiling a little at the thought of seeing their angel, even in this Apocalypse Now version of the world.

Dean starts up the steps but stops and looks over his shoulder to tell her, "Maybe you should sorta hang back. I mean, already had one chick fainting at seeing the dead girl walking."

She doesn't like it, but nods in agreement as they approach the cabin. It's probably not the most productive idea to have a repeat of the fainting girl.

As they enter through the beaded doorway of the log cabin, she can hear Castiel's familiar voice speaking to someone, but as Dean goes further into the room, Tabitha hangs back in the corner, watching the strange sight of Cas sitting Indian style on the ground, a group of pretty women gathered in a circle around him.

"So, in this way, we're each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind."

Tabitha stares at Castiel as he speaks, shocked by not only his New Age themed talk to the scantily-clad girls hanging on his every word, but by the very sight of him. The perpetual scruff she was so used to had at some point grown into a light, disheveled beard. And gone is the familiar trench coat and rumpled suit she knows so well, replaced by a loose blue shirt and cotton pants, lending credence to his Hippie, New Age vibe.

"Now," he continues speaking to the girls still focused solely on him, "the key to this total, shared perception—it's, um…it's surprisingly physical."

Finally noticing Dean as he steps into the room, Cas looks up. "Oh." He briefly turns back to the women, "Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute." He throws a surprisingly coy wink at Dean as he speaks to them. "Why not go get washed up for the orgy?''

From the corner of her eye, she sees Dean do a double take, and feels her own mouth drop and as small gasp of shock escape while the girls file out of the cabin.

The girls file past her and Dean, but none seem to recognize her, giving her only cursory glances as they almost jealously ask each other who the new girl is.

"What are you, a hippie?" Dean asks the angel in disbelief while Castiel stands and stretches the muscles of his back.

Still facing away from them, Castiel sighs and comments, "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me.

He finally turns to face Dean as her brother tells the angel, "Cas, we got to talk."

Castiel gives him a startled look. "Whoa. Strange."

"What?"

"You…are not you—not 'now' you, anyway," he tells Dean, his eyes wide as he looks at him with just a shadow of that former head tilt she recognizes.

"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly," Dean tells him.

The angel suddenly looks over Dean's shoulder, for the first time noticing Tabitha still standing in shock in the corner of the room.

She expects a look of recognition from him, perhaps even surprise. The utter look of grief, pain, and…resignation…takes her by surprise.

Her feet follow an unerring path towards him and her brother without thought, and as she draws even with Dean, she whispers, "Hey, Cas," not knowing what else to say.

Even in _her_ present time, she doesn't know what she and Cas are, but here, she's even more at a loss for what he should mean to her, especially after finding him as they have. Seemingly conducting of all things…orgies.

With a shaky step, Castiel starts towards her, an intense look in his eyes that she can't place as he whispers in disbelief, "Tab."

At the intimate sensation that slithers through her with that one utterance, she takes a step back, darting a look at Dean, afraid of what he might see or realize. And no less confused by what they mean or had meant to each other in this time and place. It's shocking to think of the angel burying himself in orgies as it appears, but she knows in her heart that it's not something she would have been any part of. So does that mean they had broken off…whatever they were doing since Castiel is now conducting orgies?

Castiel freezes at her retreat, seeming startled from his daze, but he doesn't take his eyes off her as his face softens into some kind of understanding.

"What year are you from?" he whispers intensely, still staring at her as if afraid to look away.

"2009," Dean answers before she can form any words.

"Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?"

"Yes," Dean agrees, seeming thankfully preoccupied with his own concern of getting back to their time and oblivious to Castiel's consumed gaze on his sister.

Clearing her throat at the unsettling feeling of Castiel's intense stare, she corrects her brother, "Zach sent Dean here. Some angel named Israfil sent me."

Castiel nods as if hearing what he expects, but then surprises her by telling her, "You need to stay as far away from Israfil and… Just stay away from all angels. It's not safe."

"Whatever," Dean says, clapping his hands and finally drawing the angel's attention back to himself as he continues, "why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly us back to our page on the calendar?"

Castiel turns and wanders away a bit while sardonically laughing to himself.

Still darkly chuckling, he tells them, "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry—no dice."

As Castiel continues laughing to himself in a manner so unlike the angel they know, Dean asks him, "What are you stoned?"

"Uh…generally, yeah," Castiel laughs, turning back towards them, allowing Tabitha to finally notice the unusual dilation of his pupils that she'd missed before. Meaning he's definitely on something, not that the strange laughing from him hadn't tipped her off. She's not certain she's ever really heard Castiel laugh before.

"What happened to you, Cas?" Tabitha can't stop from asking.

"Life," Castiel tells her. "And some death."

Tabitha and Dean stare in shock at the angel, but before either of them can respond, they hear vehicles outside and the commotion of the denizens of the camp gathering around it.

Not speaking, Dean turns to wander out of the cabin.

Tabitha starts to follow her brother after awkwardly staring at the angel when they're left alone in his cabin.

But when she's only a few feet from the beaded doorway, a tug on her arm spins her around, and before she can react, she feels the hard logs of the cabin connect with her back as the firm planes of Castiel's chest mold to her front.

She gasps in surprise, but has no more time than the surprised exhale that escapes before one of his hands fists into the hair at the nape of her neck, roughly tilting her head back as his mouth descends to desperately swallow her cry.

For just a moment, she's shocked by the sheer despair and anguish in his kiss, but as his other hand slides down her hip to yank her thigh to his waist; she lets the surprise slide away, gasping again as his hips roll and buck against her. Meeting his movements, she tightens the leg around his waist, one of her hands fisting in the curly waves of his brown hair while her other hand dips into the open V of his loose blue shirt, her fingers circling and then flicking one of his nipples.

He gasps in return at her ministrations, and releases her mouth to slide his lips to her neck, his teeth finding her pulse point and nipping in an erotically painful way at the sensitive skin there.

Her head falls back in ecstasy, but her eyes open and she sees the log rafters of the cabin, and her eyes land on a bra caught high in the rafters. Much larger than her own small cup size.

"Stop, Cas," she tells him, feeling as if a bucket of cold water has doused her flames.

"No," he moans, his hips continuing to grind against hers.

"Stop it!" she harshly commands, shoving at his shoulders until he gives her enough room to stand on her own again. "I'm not one of your orgy girls," she tells him, looking away as she pulls down the tank top he'd somehow managed to shove up past her bra.

Trying to hide her sudden hurt under righteous anger, she snaps, "What the hell do you think you're doing here? What, it's the end of the world so why not bang a few gongs? Get in your share of decadence and deprivation. You may be burying yourself in a tangle of slutty women, but I have a little more self-respect than to just wallow in this kind of meaningless sex. Or was that all I ever was to you?" She looks away before he can answer, afraid of what truth she might read in his eyes. Softly, she whispers, "I always knew I was blind when it came to you. You told me you'd never feel anything for me. Maybe you were right. So why not bury yourself in a mountain of willing chicks? I guess that's just how you roll. _I_ was certainly a willing fool."

"That's _not_ how I roll!" he immediately denies. "I mean, it wasn't. _You_ never were." The angel looks almost pained as his eyes track guiltily down. "No," he chokes out. "I never meant for you to know that. To see…that."

Running a hand through her hair to straighten it, Tabitha forces her expression to become neutral as she nods, telling him, "It's really none of my business. I don't know what went on here, but I guess I really have no cause to judge what you're doing now. Especially since I'm, uh…dead, in this time period. And it's not like we are an item…or I was anything special…even in _my_ time."

"We will be," she swears she can hear him whisper, but then he looks up and pins her with a confused stare. A little louder, he says, "You were always something special. The only one that ever was."

He opens his mouth to tell her something else, but then shakes his head before nodding once to himself, as though coming to some sort of decision.

"It was…hard…after I…lost you," he whispers by way of explanation. "For a long time, it's been easier to bury the pain in these…distractions. I guess, I don't do lonely any better than you once said you did." His head hangs in shame again as he repeats, "I'm sorry."

Softening at the pain and regret so obvious in his eyes, she steps forward to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but she can't help curiously asking, "So, you and I…uh…get… _together_ …in this future?"

She can feel her face heat at her stumbled question, but he looks up, his eyes filled with…adoration…or something close to it as he nods. "Yes. Until I…lost you."

Squeezing his shoulder once, she tells him, "Well, I guess I'm sorry for dying on you in this future."

They can hear more commotion from the people outside, and when a bullet resounds as well, Tabitha steps away from Castiel, intent on seeing what's going on and insuring that her brother is all right.

But once more, Castiel stops her, his hands tightly gripping hers as he suddenly pleads with her, "Leave this place as soon as you can. Call for Israfil; beg him to take you back to your time. And then leave. Disappear. Stay away from your brothers. Stay away from me. Stay away from all angels, demons, and everything supernatural. Hide somewhere safe and never look back. They can't find you if you don't want to be found."

"Cas, what—"

His hold on her hand tightens almost despairingly. "Promise me," he pleads in an anguished voice. "Promise me you'll stay away from everything. It's the only way you can stay safe."

Carefully extracting her hand, she turns away, stepping out of the cabin without answering Castiel's desperate plea, not even knowing how to answer the grief and desperation in his voice.

Wiping at her eyes to push her emotions away, she steps out onto the porch of Castiel's cabin, watching the sight of her brother staring down his future self, a dead body on the ground between them. From Dean's accusing glare, she can guess that his future self is responsible for the dead body.

She feels Castiel follow her onto the porch, but he only looks on with an indifferent expression at the sight, as if Future-Dean shooting people from their camp is a common enough occurrence.

The questioning look she gives him is only met with a dispassionate shrug, so she jogs down the steps to stand beside her brother.

Future-Dean gives her an annoyed look, turning to tell the suddenly terrified men behind him, "I know. Her, too. Look, there's no reason to be afraid of her. More than that…you don't need to know." He waves his arms impatiently at them. "Get back to work!"

As they fearfully flee the clearing around the dead body and the Jeep, Future-Dean stalks closer, grabbing Dean and Tabitha each by their elbows and propelling them forward. As he passes by Castiel he growls at the angel, "Can't you do _anything_ useful? Couldn't keep her safe, but I figured you'd at least have enough brains to keep her out of sight! You're all but useless anymore."

"Hey!" Tabitha objects as he pushes them towards a cabin, roughly shoving them both through the doorway and slamming it behind them.

"What the hell was that?" Future-Dean demands. "Are you both idiots?"

"What the hell was _that_?" Dean returns in disbelief. "You just shot a guy in cold blood."

"We were in an open quarantine zone—got ambushed by some Crotes on the way out," Future-Dean explains. "Crotes—Croatoans. One of them infected Yager."

"How do you even know?" Tabitha interjects.

"'Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't going to be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news."

"'Troubling a good man?'" Dean repeats. "You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked them out a little bit?"

"It's 2014," Future-Dean reminds them, as if everything about this time doesn't remind them of that. "Plugging some Crote—it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone— _that_ might have freaked them out a little."

He waves an accusing hand at Tabitha. "And don't even get me started on _you_!"

"All right, look—" Dean starts to say.

"No, _you_ look. Both of you. This isn't your time. Neither of you. It's _mine_. You don't make the decisions. _I_ do. So, when I say stay in, you stay in."

Tabitha starts angrily toward her future brother when he turns away, but Dean throws a hand in front of her to stop her advance, telling his future self, "All right, man. We're sorry. Look, we're not trying to mess you or…me—us up here."

"I know," Future-Dean agrees, pouring himself a drink.

"It's just been a really wacky weekend."

Tabitha thinks back on her heated encounter with Castiel only minutes before, as well as his…bevy of beauties, and steps beside her future brother to pour herself a tall drink as well, muttering to them both, "That's a gross understatement. This is some _Twilight Zone_ shit here."

"Tell me about it," Future-Dean agrees, eyeing Tabitha and then pouring another glass of whiskey for Dean as well.

The three…siblings…stand around the table in the center of the room and take long drinks from their glasses.

"What was the mission anyway?" Dean wonders.

Future-Dean looks hesitant, but reaches into the bag he'd set down, pulling a familiar revolver from within.

"The Colt?" Dean and Tabitha say together.

"The Colt," Future-Dean agrees, holding it up to examine it.

"Where was it?" Tabitha asks, almost instantly seeing her brother's plan, or rather, his future plans.

"Everywhere. They've been moving it around. Took me five years, but…I finally got it. And tonight…tonight, I'm gonna kill the Devil."

He finishes the last of his whiskey, looking at Dean.

"You can stay here…where you're outa sight." Turning towards Tabitha, he grimaces and looks away while pointing blindly at her. "But _you_ gotta stay somewhere else. In case someone stops by or something." Lowering his voice, he adds, "Besides, you're freakin' me out."

Hands on her hips, she demands, "Well, where should I go? And if you put your hands on my again to shove me around _anywhere_ , you're gonna walk with a permanent limp."

Looking her over from the corner of his eye, her future brother seems to come to some kind of conclusion. "You can spend the day in your cabin. No one ever really goes there now anyway."

* * *

That no one ever really goes to her old cabin Tabitha thinks must be an understatement. She imagines it looks exactly like it had before she died, or will die, or died in the future.

Shaking away the headache such thinking will only bring, she examines the space of her cabin. Layers of dust and cobwebs coat the entire interior. Moving closer to the bed, she can see the rumpled sheets and blankets tossed back and untouched since she last got up from this bed.

Knickknacks and pictures line the shelves and dressers, and even a book lays open on the table beside her bed, as though patiently waiting for her to return to finish it. She'd obviously never known she wasn't going to be coming back the last time she left this cabin. And she wonders to herself again, how she died. So far, she's been hesitant to ask, not wanting to breach such a delicate and painful topic, but now, she wishes she had.

Curious, she picks up the open book on the nightstand, dusting off the paperback to see the cover.

" _Lucifer's Hammer_ ," she reads to herself, her lips twisting up a bit.

"You were reading that before…before I lost you."

Twisting around, Tabitha is surprised by the sudden appearance of Castiel. Looking to the front of the cabin, she finds the heavy wood door still shut and bolted from the inside.

When she glances back to Castiel, she sees his smirk as he gestures behind him. "Your cabin and mine share a wall, and we long ago created a hidden door to go back and forth unnoticed."

He pushes on the bookcase next to him, and slides it down the wall far enough to show her the opening cut into the logs.

"I guess that means we weren't openly…together," she notes.

"No. We hadn't yet gotten around to telling your brother. And he was your main…worry," he explains, looking down.

She frowns at the way he talks about what she _did_ , as if she'd just woken with amnesia and doesn't remember her past instead of talking about things that are still the future to her.

Returning to his first statement, she sets the paperback back on the nightstand. "I'm surprised I would choose to read that again. But I guess it makes some sense."

"You'd read it before?"

"Yeah. In high school. I think." Glancing at the novel, she sums it up. "Apocalyptic type world, post-society, with survivors striving to rebuild and live. I guess those themes and themes about whether or not it's the 'good' man that survives and what new mores in post-civilization are is strikingly apropos."

Shrugging, Castiel says while still looking down, "I haven't read it. You were reading through it at night those last few weeks."

Glancing at their "secret passageway" Tabitha can't help asking, "So, I guess we spent a lot of time together?"

"Yes," he agrees, staring at his toes and shuffling his feet in a strangely human manner. "Mostly we slept in my cabin, since you were worried about Dean coming into yours unannounced. He stopped coming into mine without warning after he almost caught us and realized I'd been sleeping with someone." He gestures around her cabin. "You always kept most of your things here. And we slept here mostly those last few weeks, when you didn't feel up to leaving your cabin to come to mine."

When she sees the grief in his eyes and hears his anguish, she steps in front of him, but then stops and awkwardly shoves her hands into her pockets as she asks, "What happened, Cas? How'd I die?" Rather than speak of the future, she decides it's easier to speak as he does, as if it's a past event.

Such a pained sound escapes Castiel's chest. Something between an anguished cry and a pained moan.

"Please don't ask me to talk about that, Tabitha," he pleads, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It was hard enough to live through."

"I'm sorry," she quietly apologizes, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his folded arms.

Moving swiftly, Castiel sweeps her into his arms, pressing her head against his shoulder as his hands run across her back as though to reacquaint himself with the feel of her body in his arms or perhaps to reassure himself that she's actually there.

Her own arms settle comfortably around his waist as she holds him tightly, trying to soothe him as he silently shakes in her arms.

When she feels the wetness of tears fall into her hair, she twists her face to press her nose into the crook of his neck, savoring the unaccustomed smell of what she recognizes as marijuana smoke, and underneath the pungent smoke, is the familiar tang of his musk that she knows so well.

"I missed you so much," she hears whispered throatily against the top of her head.

His hands descend to her waist, beginning to pull her tighter into the fold of his body, but before she can protest, he pushes her back again, frowning as he examines the dried blood still flaking away from her clothes at her hip.

"What happened here?"

Glancing down and self-consciously brushing away some of the dried flecks, she explains, "It's nothing. Happened down in New Orleans. But I should change the bandaging and clean it a bit if you've got supplies."

Castiel frowns as he takes a step back. "Why were you in New Orleans?" he whispers with a fierce intensity.

Her frown mimics his. "I guess I woke up there because that's where I was when Israfil found me."

"With Cort."

"Yeah, that's where I was," she agrees, baffled by the hard edge to his tone.

"What happened to him? Something had to happen for you to come here. You only showed up here asking to stay in Dean's camp four years ago. You said you'd stayed with Cort for a year before coming here. But you'd only say things didn't work out between you," he explains, his gaze fixed on the floor as he visibly braces himself.

"I don't know why I stayed with him for a year or why I left, Cas," she sighs. "I only know that when I woke up in New Orleans a few days ago…that Cort tried to kill me." Her voice drops as she explains, "He was a Crote."

Suddenly, Castiel's hands are framing her face, clinging to her almost desperately as he pleads, "Did he bleed on you? Are you okay?" He seems to shake himself, whispering a reminder to himself, "You must be okay if it was days ago."

"He didn't bleed on me," she confirms, her hands gently tugging his away from her face. "And I got out of there right after. I'm fine."

He nods more to himself and releases one of her hands, tugging on her other to lead her towards the passageway to his cabin.

"Come," he tells her. "We'll get it cleaned up. Can't risk infection."

She balks inside his cabin when he veers off towards the open doorway of what appears to be his bedroom.

He glances back and immediately reads the hesitation in her eyes and knows the reason.

Lowering both his voice and his eyes, he tells her, "I won't lie and say there haven't been other women in my cabin, but my room was always my sanctuary to remember you. No one else has ever been allowed in that room.

Unable to form any kind of answer to his admission, she only nods, allowing him to lead her forward once more.

"Lie down," he gently commands upon shutting the door and gesturing to the bed. The closed door helps. It further shuts out the reality of him with other women in the rest of the cabin.

She does as he commands, stretching on her side as she props her head up by her elbow, watching as he silently moves about the simply furnished room, gathering supplies and a basin of water.

Setting his burden down on the nightstand by her head, he gestures to her, saying, "Roll over so I can see your hip."

For a moment, she hesitates, but then rolls over to bring her left hip up, turning her back to him as he kneels on the side of the bed behind her.

With nearly shaking hands, she reaches for the button of her cargo pants to loosen them so he can see the wound. He has other ideas though. His strong hands glide over her hip, silently catching hers and pushing them away. Without uttering a word, he flicks the button open and tugs the zipper down.

As his hands careful push her pants past the makeshift bandaging she'd shoved against the wound, she raises her hips to ease the process.

He still doesn't speak as he pulls the gauze pad away, but hisses an inhale through his teeth when he sees the wound.

"This really needs to be cleaned and stitched, angel," he tells her as a wet cloth begins to gentle clean the wound.

She smiles a bit and comments, "It's sorta strange to hear an angel call _me_ one."

His hands falter slightly in their work before resuming. "I haven't been an angel in a long time, Tabitha. I fell. I'm almost utterly human now. _You_ were my angel," he whispers, his fingers moving from the rag to flutter caressingly along her waist, gently pushing up her shirt as his hand settles on the bare skin of her waist. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to her temple. "You were the only angel that mattered," he softly adds against her skin.

She doesn't know how to respond, but he doesn't seem to expect one as he sits up to resume cleaning her hip.

Once the wound is cleaned, he leaves the bed and returns with a needle and thread, as well as a glass of water and two pills in his hand.

Glancing over her shoulder, she asks, "What's this?"

"Oxy," he succinctly replies. "For the pain. It's hard to find now, but you should take some."

She shakes her head and closes his fist around the pills. "It's not that bad. Wasn't even when it happened. I've had worse."

Lips thinning into a hard line, he whispers, "I know."

But he pulls his hand back, offering her a rolled blunt instead. "At least take this. It'll take the edge off." She starts to object, but he softly pleads, "Please."

"Alright," she agrees, taking the proffered joint. "Guess I'm not a Fed anymore anyway and there probably aren't even laws against it anymore."

A laugh bubbles up in her throat as he lights it for her. Inhaling and then slowly exhaling, she tells him, "It's been a long time since I smoked marijuana, and I didn't exactly expect _you_ to be the one offering me a joint and getting me to light up a joint again."

"Things are…different now, I guess," he agrees, laughing a little as he takes the joint and draws a long inhale.

He hands it back and gives her a few moments to let the effects settle in, gently running his hand in circles at her waist while he waits for her to finish the joint.

"This wasn't exactly what I would have imagined for where you and I would be in five years," she giggles, feeling the drug start to take effect. "Lying half naked on a bed with a fallen angel at my back, smoking a joint."

Castiel drops his nose to her shoulder, laughing lightly as well as he corrects her. "You're not even half naked, yet. But I can push those pants down lower if you'd like to remedy the situation."

"Hey now," she giggles again. "Keep your mind on business, mister. You're supposed to be stitching me up, not trying to undress me." She glances back over her shoulder again. "Are you even sober enough to stitch straight? Don't want a crooked scar or anything."

He's serious as he leans down to kiss the skin of her hip above the wound. "I'll do my best to keep the stitches even. I have no desire to leave you with an unsightly scar."

For a moment, Tabitha fights the urge to tell him to forget stitching and keep kissing her skin. Her hand itches to press his lips back to her when he pulls away.

Clearing her throat she instead says, "Let's get this over with."

He nods. "Just lie back and don't think about it."

"I've been stitched up before. I'll be fine," she assures him, giggling again. "Just never by a fallen angel."

Though she doesn't watch, she can feel him working on her hip, and knows by his careful manner that his stitches are perfect and evenly spaced.

When he's done, he leans down to press another kiss to the line of stitches.

"You should be more careful," he warns her.

Something tells her he's not speaking just about her wounded hip.

"It's not always so easy."

"I know," he agrees.

Moving gingerly, Tabitha rolls over onto her back, her head supported by the pillows as she stares up at Castiel. The soft smile on his face almost surprises her; she thinks to herself that she's never seen _her_ Castiel smile so much. Then again, she's never seen him stoned like this one either.

Slowly, Castiel stretches out on the bed beside her, his head and shoulders still propped up so he can stare down at her, but as she watches, he leans down to press a kiss to her lips.

She responds, letting her hand settle on his hip as she feels his hand skim up her side, running the length from her thigh, up to the side of her breast, lingering there as he cups it.

Arching her back, she responds to the kiss, but then, pulls away, turning her head to the side as she whispers, "I'm not her."

His head retreats a little and then his hands still as he looks at her curiously.

"I'm not the woman that you know from this future," she says again, forcing herself to turn and face him to tell him why they have to stop, despite how much she wants him to continue. She just can't fight the feeling that's urging her to speak.

"She's a whole different woman," she continues. "Shaped by things I haven't experienced. And you're certainly not the same Castiel I'm familiar with. I'm not sure what's going on between him and I, but this still feels…I don't know…it feels…like a line I shouldn't cross."

His smile turns sweet as his hand leaves her breast, running down her arm until he has twinned his hand with hers, fingers interlaced as he pulls her hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"I told you once that as an angel, I wasn't capable of human emotion. But I think that was a lie. I may not have been capable of the gamut of human emotions—I still may not be—but there is one I've found that I am capable of…one I've felt for a very long time."

His eyes are locked onto their hands as he speaks, but then, he glances up to stare into her eyes, his blue gaze shinning in the soft glow of the lanterns lighting his room. "Love. I've loved you for a very long time. Longer than I even knew what the emotion was or what it meant. I loved the woman you were, the woman you are, and the woman you will become. Time is fluid and changing, yes, but that wasn't. The complexity of the space/time continuum does not lessen the single human emotion I know I've gained. The one you taught me. Who you were, who you are, even who I was or will be…it is merely a change in scenery. You are not a different woman to that emotion. I love the entirety of you—who you were, who you are, and who you will be."

"Cas," she whispers, hearing the quiver in her voice.

He gives her no chance to say anything else, not that she knows what to say. She thinks that her heart has swelled in her chest to hear him say such things…to speak of loving her. But regardless of his absoluteness that he loves any version of her, she's not certain she's there herself. He's had five years of experiences that have changed and shaped him. Years of interactions with her that has brought him to that point. And though she feels something for Castiel—both her version of him, and this version of him—she's still not sure that it's love she feels for either of them. Still not even sure that she agrees that he's the same person when everything about this Castiel is so different.

Still holding her palm tightly in his, he leans down, gently kissing her lips. A part of her thinks that she should push him away, that he's not the same and that she shouldn't cross this line.

Then, she closes her eyes and falls into his kiss, flying past that line like she's crossed every other with Castiel.

He moans when he feels her respond to the kiss, rolling on top of her, his knees straddling her hips to keep part of his weight off her and freeing his other hand to run up her side, dragging her shirt up with it.

She arches her back and then lifts her head to allow him to free her of the garment, breaking their kiss for a moment as he makes quick work of her bra. Tugging on his shirt, she wordlessly commands him to get rid of the barrier to his skin.

"Now," she moans, startled by the huskiness in her hoarse demand.

Slowly grinning, he crosses his arms and then quickly yanks the shirt over his head.

He only stays still for a moment, barely letting her take in the sight of his body, the same one she knows so well, and yet one so intractably changed.

When he dips low again to rekindle their kiss, she braces her hands on his chest, running them over the familiar planes and noting the change in typography. His muscles are tighter now, hardened by equally hard years, and scarred by battles she hasn't yet seen.

Her fingers linger on some of the worst ones, running gently along them as a strange feeling of familiarity fills her, somehow telling her that these scars are ones she stitched for him just as he stitched her hip.

Groaning into her mouth, he sits up and frantically shoves at his cotton pants, raising his hips when her hands join his to push them away.

When they're gone, he pushes her back, but doesn't immediately rejoin her. Instead, he leans down to lightly run the tip of his tongue around her navel, and then blows air across the wet trail circling her skin.

Cool air tightens the muscles in her stomach, causing her to gasp and her hips to jerk instinctively up in the air.

With a knowing laugh, he uses the movement to pull her cargo pants further past her hips, tugging her underwear with them as he tosses them aside.

"You did that on purpose," she accuses.

"Yes," he agrees, his eyes nearly twinkling with his mirth.

His laughter disappears altogether as he settles back over her, his hips falling easily into the V of her thighs as she wraps her arm behind his neck and pulls him closer.

Leaning over her, he lowers his head to slowly kiss her shoulder. In response, she rolls her shoulders back and arches into him, welcoming his touch.

Then, his hands tug her thighs apart, slipping between them as he slowly parts her, his fingers cleverly sliding in and out.

She rides the indescribable feelings, gently rocking her hips in time to his movements until he curls his fingers and finds the delicate bundle of nerves, causing her to throw her head back as she stifles a scream, gripping his shoulders for support as her legs clench around his hips.

"Stop," she groans, intent on giving him the same pleasure he's giving her.

"No," he moans, his mouth trailing across her skin, lips nimbly pulling her nipple between his teeth.

Unable to think coherently or hold back after the double onslaught of his hands and mouth, she closes her eyes and screams, heart thumping in her chest as waves of ecstasy wash over her.

Yet, when she comes down from her high, it's not enough. She wants more.

"Now," she roughly tells him, still gripping his shoulders and tugging him up her body to kiss his lips. "Now, Cas."

He settles back into the V of her thighs, but hesitates as he struggles to speak. "Wait, angel…wait…we, uh, need—"

His words are bitten off in a deep moan as she wraps her hands around him, pumping slowly along his length.

But she knows what he's trying to say.

"I've been on the birth control patch since you and I first started sleeping together almost a year ago," she assures him, sliding one of his hands around her hip to feel the slightly raised patch on her upper buttock.

"Thank God," he sighs, his hands clenching against her butt where she'd placed it, his hips surging forward as she guides him.

Almost instantly, he sets a fast pace, his hips rocking back and forth in an increasingly jerky manner. It doesn't take long for her to feel the tightening in her muscles again, and she feels her eyes close and head begin tilting back as she waits for the orgasm to wash over her once more.

"No," Castiel moans, one hand sliding to the back of her head to fist in her hair, tugging her back up to face him. "Don't close your eyes," he begs. "I need to see you."

"I'm here," she sighs, her eyes focused on his again.

His breathing is hard and labored, a layer of sweat glistening on his skin to match hers. She's never seen him so out of breath…so flushed…so…human.

And she can tell he's struggling to hold out, trying to keep back from the edge for as long as he can, but teetering ever closer.

"Let go," she whispers, pulling his head down and whispering in his ear. "Let yourself go. I'm here. I've got you."

He groans at her words, but his hips continue their steady yet frantic pace as he fights to last a little longer.

Turning her head to seek his lips, she kisses him as she slides a hand between them, cupping him and gently squeezing until he gasps against her mouth, finally falling over the edge and taking her with him.

When his body finally stops moving, pleasure wrung from him entirely, he falls against her, his skin damp and overheated. She cradles him to her chest as they both struggle to regain their breath, and when his evens out a bit, he slides part of his body off of her until only his head and one arm and leg are thrown over her, gripping her tightly in the shelter of his arms.

She plays with his hair as she waits for her body to cool down a bit from their exertions, marveling to herself how different it had been to experience sex with a very human Castiel. It was every bit as good, but it was also slightly strange to see him gasping for air just like her, or to see his body slicked with sweat like hers was inside the warm cabin. And there had been a desperation in him that she'd never felt before in his touch.

A noise startles her, and Tabitha jumps a little when she looks down and realizes it's a soft snore coming from Castiel as he sleeps.

It's somehow terrifying and humbling to see his face slack in sleep against her chest. Terrifying to see how human he's become, but humbling to see his trust in her as he rests so easily against her skin.

Unlike the men Tabitha has been with in her life, she's not usually one to feel sleepy after sex, but it does appear that human Castiel is like other men, she thinks as she continues to twirl his shaggy hair around her fingers.

She passes nearly an hour just savoring the feeling of Castiel sleeping in her arms, not allowing herself to think about anything. But soon, she begins to look around his room, and finds herself curious about that man this Castiel has become.

Ever so gently, she slides out from under him, grinning to herself at the way his arms quickly commandeer her pillow, pressing his face into it as he inhales deeply, and then sighs with a satisfied smile on his face.

His room doesn't seem so different from her own cabin, she thinks to herself as she wanders about, dressed only in his castoff blue cotton shirt. Skimming through his bookshelves, she's surprised not only by the number of them, but also how many seem to be deeply philosophical texts. Though, she supposes for an angel that has fallen to humanity, it makes some sense that he's become introspective about that humanity and what it means.

Seeing a cluttered desk, she wanders over, carefully sitting in the wooden chair and drawing her legs up on the seat as she glances across the surface.

It's littered with loose pages, most of which seem to be written in Enochian symbols or sigils that she doesn't understand, but there are also a few open books lying on the top as well. But what really holds her attention, is the corner of a Polaroid sticking out beneath some papers, a smiling face that she recognizes well. As though afraid to touch it and have it disintegrate under her fingertips, she slowly slides it out using only one fingernail to catch the corner.

Feeling bolder when she sees the happy, laughing smile on her own face, she picks it up and holds it in her hands.

The photo was obviously taken in Castiel's room; she recognizes the faded mauve fabric of the barrel back chair still situated in the corner. In the photo, she appears to be straddling Castiel's lap facing him, reaching out to the camera even as his arms extend out of the frame, seemingly taking the picture and keeping the camera from her reach. Still, though she seems to be twisting and reaching for the camera, her shoulders are drawn up and turned a bit, her shrug and teasing smile making it obvious that whatever she and Castiel were doing was more of a game than her actually trying to take the camera away.

She studies the photo, but unfortunately, the picture is close and framed only on her face. She can tell that she's sitting in Castiel's lap facing him, her hands braced on his shoulders as she pushes back and coyly poses for the picture, but most of his body is out of the frame, only his torso and an arm are visible.

Glancing back at the littered desk, she sees that another Polaroid had been with the first, and she slides it out as well.

This one almost surprises her more. It was obviously taken at the same time, she can see she's still sitting in Castiel's lap, but she's not teasingly trying to grab the camera from him, this time, she's patiently posing for the picture, her mouth split open in a real, honest smile. It's never been a smile that she's fond of herself, she thinks. She usually smiles more closed mouth when posing for a camera, but when she's really happy, it's _this_ smile that comes out.

But it's the tears catching light in her eyes that truly grabs her focus. Something big happened in this moment. Something important, she knows. Whatever happened, brought tears to her eyes, and caused her to smile her slightly too big, honest-to-goodness happy smile.

"That was a good day. One of the best."

Tabitha jumps at Castiel's sudden voice, spinning and nearly dropping the photos from her hands as she twists to look at him. He's stretched out in the bed, his head propped up as he watches her.

"I always feel a strange satisfaction seeing you dressed in my clothes, even though they are so ill fitting on you," he tells her.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she apologizes, gesturing to the photos she can't seem to put down. "It's so strange to look at photos of myself and not remember them. To see familiar emotions on my face and know exactly what I must have been feeling, but have no clue what I was feeling them about."

"We were on a scouting mission when you came across a strange camera," he begins telling her. "I didn't understand your excitement at finding it, until we got back and you showed me how it made 'instant pictures' as you called them."

"Polaroid," she offers by way of explanation, laughing a little at his description. "I'm surprised that anyone would still have one of them even in _my_ present time. I can see why it would be exciting here where digital cameras are almost worthless and you can't exactly go to the photo-mat to get negatives developed."

Castiel frowns as he asks, "Why would you want to develop something that is negative?"

She throws back her head and laughs, wiping at her eyes as she tells him, "Well, I'm glad to see that you don't completely change in the future."

Before she can launch into an explanation, a loud rumbling from her stomach fills the room.

Hand uselessly trying to cover the noise, she sheepishly asks, "Don't suppose there's any food in this joint? I don't know why, but I've been hungry as a racehorse for days."

"I highly doubt you would be able to eat as much as a horse, let alone be able to have a sustainable diet of the roughage and grains that a horse consumes," he tells her, sliding from the bed and tugging his white cotton pants back on.

Rather than point out that her statement had been a simile and not a statement of fact, she smiles and retorts, "I've been hungry enough the past several days that I just might be able to."

As he nears the door, he tells her, "Most of our supplies are canned goods anymore, but I think I've got some soups I can heat up if you'd like?"

"Sure," she agrees, moving to follow him.

He stops her at the door, hesitantly glancing away as he tells her, "Perhaps you should stay here. Dean was right in that it might be best if you remain unseen. It would…unsettle the people here."

"Sure," she slowly agrees, finally nodding when he looks relieved. Reaching out, she pulls him close for a quick kiss, her hands lingering briefly on his bare chest. "Thanks again for stitching my hip. That was the most…physically intense stitch job I've ever had done." At his grin, she adds, "It's probably a miracle I didn't pop a stitch right away though."

In response to his smug laughter, she pushes lightly on his chest, reminding him, "I mean it, I'm starving."

His eyes drop to glance at the charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. The grin slipping from his lips and turning wistful as he reaches out to lightly caress the angel wing he'd given her.

"How long ago did I give this to you?"

Shrugging, she answers, "Night before my field trip to the future. So, only a couple of days now."

"That explains it," he says, more to himself.

"Explains what?"

Tearing his eyes away from the charm, he pulls back his hand and answers a little too quickly and nervously, "What time period you were removed from."

She nods, but doesn't press him on the strange conversation, pushing lightly on his shoulder when her stomach growls again. "Go. Food," she intones.

He grins and slips from the room, leaving her alone to continue her perusal of his domain.

After making a quick circuit of the space, she finds herself back at his desk again, staring down at the two pictures she'd found earlier.

Whatever had been the importance of that day, she'd been happy. Really happy. And the photos obviously held some importance to Castiel, even now. The white plastic framing around the pictures show clear signs of heavy handling, as though they'd spent many hours being held by his fingers.

Hearing the former angel reenter the room, she looks up to see him set a large bowl of soup in front of her. He sits on the bed to eat his own, and for several minutes, they do so in comfortable silence.

But the photo niggles at her curiosity, until she has to ask, "What was important about that day? I can _feel_ that it means something, even if I don't know what. Almost like a strange déjà vu."

With a resigned sigh, Castiel sets his bowl aside, sliding out the drawer of the nightstand next to him and reaching inside. He pulls something out, but it's too small for her to see what's in his hand.

"I gave this to you that day," he whispers, still staring down and his curled palm.

Setting her empty bowl aside as well, she moves to sit beside him on the bed again, looking into his hand.

The shock of the sight nearly causes her to fall backwards, but she regains her composure and asks through a suddenly dry throat, "A ring?"

An answer isn't necessary; she knows. A ring like that isn't just any ring. And the smile on her face in that photo hadn't been just any smile.

"I asked you to marry me," he needlessly supplies.

It's unnecessary to ask if she said "yes," she's seen the answer in the photo.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, staring at the ring in his palm. Truly, it's one of the most beautiful rings she's ever seen, and somehow seems so fitting as well.

She's never been one to gauge carats of stones, but a good-sized blood red ruby is nestled in the center of a circle of black diamonds, even the ring itself is made of black gold. Along the sides of the band are more black diamonds, too. It's unique and unequalled, she thinks to herself, but then, so is the former angel that holds it.

Yet, something doesn't seem right. She knows by the photo that she obviously said "yes" to him…so why does he have the ring? Taking the ring from her body doesn't seem like something he would do, even if he's a former angel, she thinks he would have left the ring with her when she died.

"How did I die, Cas?"

He springs to his feet, stepping away from her and refusing to look back as he commands, "Don't ask me about that. Just…don't talk about that."

Though it's picking at an obvious wound, she can't leave it alone now.

"I need to know, Cas. I have a right to know what happened," she tries to reasonably explain.

Whipping around, he faces her, his eyes lightened with the moisture of unshed tears. "It doesn't matter. What happened…it's too…unspeakable. If you want to keep it from happening, then do what I asked of you. When you get back to your time, you leave. Disappear. Have no further contact with anything or anyone of the supernatural. Stay away from your brothers. Stay away from me. And most importantly… _stay away from Azrael_." As he speaks, he stalks closer, until he's gripped her shoulders and shakes her with his every command.

Shrugging out of his grip, she pushes away and stands to face him, arms crossed over her chest. "Then you need to give me something. You need to explain it to me. Because I'm thinking back on things, and starting to piece some things together, while at the same time, asking myself a lot of questions about things that don't make sense."

She holds one finger out on her hand as she begins, ignoring his obvious frustration and discomfort with the topic. "One, that girl I ran into this morning never sat right with me. Dean said that his future self told him that I died in this future. But that just doesn't fit with that girl's reaction. Her fainting like that wasn't 'Oh my God, there's a dead girl walking around!' That's probably not so out of place with all the Crotes around here. She was _terrified_ when she saw me. Not, I-saw-a-dead-girl, terrified. She was, I'm-gonna-have-my-face-ripped-off, terrified."

She extends a second finger even as Castiel angrily turns away from her, moving to the desk and leaning down heavily on his braced hands. "And then there's you. You see, I've just taken for granted that you're the same terrible liar I've always known. But I'm thinking that you finally learned how to lie well. In that the best lie, isn't a lie at all. It's saying just the right things, to let the other person believe what they want, but never actually contradicting them or saying an outright lie. And _you_ never said I was dead. You kept saying you 'lost' me. I just assumed that meant I died. So what _really_ happened, Cas? Am I running around out there as a Crote or something?"

The silence as she waits for his answer is suddenly shattered as he slams his fist against the surface of the desk. "You said 'yes!'" he all but screams.

Confusion tightens her features as she stares at him, not understanding why he's circling back to his proposal. She'd already known by the photo what her answer had been.

"I know," she tells him. "It doesn't take a genius to put it together and see that I said 'yes' to you."

"Not _me_ ," he exclaims in a pained voice, falling into the chair, his head slumping down to fall into his hands. "You said 'yes' to _her_."

Her jaw falls slack as she comprehends. "Azrael."

"Yes," he hisses through his hands, "Azrael."

He shoves the shaggy hair back from his face, turning to look at her with bloodshot eyes. "You cannot say 'yes' to her. Stay away from me and your brothers if you must to hide from her, but _don't_ say 'yes' to her. No matter what."

Pulled in by the pain in his voice and the anguish in his eyes, she moves closer and kneels in front of him, pulling his hands into hers as she pleads, "Tell me what happened, Cas. You're asking me to leave everything I love. My _family_. Give me a reason to just disappear and leave it all behind. Leave my brothers behind. I've _got_ to know what happened here, Cas."

Slipping one of his hands free, he reaches down to cup her jaw in his palm as he tells her, "That day. The day that I finally had the courage to ask you to marry me, was the same day you told me you were pregnant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shew! I knew that chapter would be long, but I had no idea! Before I split it up, it was over 30k words!
> 
> Anyway, be sure to leave some review love wherever you read this chapter. Your feedback is the only payment fanfiction writers get for our time, and the only way we can learn, so give any thoughts you may have. Thanks again!
> 
> And more surprises to come! :)


	6. Until the End

Her body goes limp as she falls back from her knees, her butt connecting painfully with the hardwood floor.

"Pregnant?" she parrots, unable to say or think of anything else.

Still holding her jaw in his palm, Castiel slides from the chair, kneeling in front of her and in all likelihood, keeping her body from falling completely to the floor.

He only nods in answer.

"What…how…what happened?" She shakes her head, more determined now than ever to know everything. "I need to know it all, Cas."

This time, it's Castiel that falls backwards to land on his butt. As he heaves a weary sigh, he draws one knee to his chest, resting his hands on top of his knee as he focuses on his fiddling hands instead of her.

"Four years ago," he finally speaks, still not looking at her, "you showed up here in your brother's camp. I don't know what happened in the year that you were with Cort. You'd only say that you'd been hunting with him and waiting for something." He shifts a bit, obviously uncomfortable with telling the tale, or perhaps it's telling the tale to _her_.

"Things were awkward at first. Both between you and I, and between you and your brother. But eventually, you and I…rekindled. Neither of you would ever say, but there was always some kind of rift between you and Dean. I didn't ask, but I gathered that was why you didn't want him or anyone else to know about us. It didn't matter to me. We were friendly in front of others, but at night, I had you to myself. And I felt different with you. Special…worthy…like I really was the man you saw when you looked at me. Someone special. Someone important.

"Even though I'd lost my powers, you and I seemed to make a good team, so Dean often sent us out to scout. Look for Crotes. Look for survivors. Look for supplies. And things went on like that for nearly two years." Finally looking up, he meets her eyes, his gaze almost…hesitant. "We were…we were…happy…I think that's the word…the emotion. I don't know that I'd ever experienced it before…but I think we were happy. At least I think as happy as anyone can be in such desolate times."

He begins to more nervously fidget with his hands as he glances away once more. "And then it happened. One day, you told me you were pregnant. We'd been careful, but you said it could still happen, despite precautions. I've seen enough human interaction to understand that in the situation, I was supposed to 'do right by you' and 'make you an honest woman'…though I'd always found you to be sufficiently honest with me. I knew you at times kept things from me, but I think it was mostly for my benefit—"

"Cas," she interrupts with a laugh at his confusion of the old phrase. "Never mind, just…go on."

Nodding, he launches back in, still staring at his hands, as though he might lose his nerve if he looks up at her while he speaks. "When you agreed to marry me… _that_ was when I knew I felt happiness. Real happiness. We planned to tell your brother and everyone else as soon as your pregnancy became too apparent to hide."

He stops again, his hands still now, but still staring at them. "I never thought I would create a life. That was something for my Father alone to know. But there was such a miracle in that feeling, knowing I had created a life—that _we_ had created a life."

Suddenly, he makes a hurried and angry hand gesture. "I wish we never had," he harshly whispers.

"What?" she questions, leaning back in a startled motion at his sudden change in demeanor.

This time when he looks up, he pins her with a hard stare, and something in the way he locks his eyes onto hers tells her that he's trying to enforce the gravity of what he's about to say.

"We went out on one last mission. After that, you were going to tell your brother about the pregnancy…about us. And then you'd agreed that you would stay in camp where you and the…our child would be safe. We argued about you even going out that last time. But it was just a simple run to gather more supplies. We'd done it a hundred times. It shouldn't have been a problem."

He reaches forward then, grabbing her hands to grip between the two of them, his fingers tightening almost painfully on hers. "We ran into demons, and were separated. I looked for you…tracked them for days, but it took nearly two weeks to find you."

With jerking movements, Castiel suddenly releases her hands and stands, pacing back and forth as he continues. "Your brother had caught up by then, worried when we didn't return. We found the demons; they'd been taking you to Lucifer." He runs a frantic hand through his hair as his pacing increases, and Tabitha can only sit on the floor by the desk and stare up at him, waiting for him to finish.

"We got to you before they could deliver you, but…they'd already finished marking you. Finished what that demon began marking upon you years ago. And what they did to you…I wasn't sure you'd even survive the things they'd done to you. You didn't even look like you anymore."

Finally, he stops pacing and stands in the middle of the room, facing away from her as he crosses his arms over his chest, seeming to hold himself together. When he speaks, she can hear the tears in his voice. "You were never the same again. We'd lost our child…and we both knew you'd been so severely injured that you'd never have another. It was as if you'd become a shell…an empty vessel. You rarely left your cabin, and though I did my best to care for you, I never saw you smile again. Once, you said that it was hard enough knowing you'd lost our child, but knowing that you could never bear another was a blow you couldn't get over."

She hears him sniffle and sees him roughly swipe at his nose.

"I wish you'd never been pregnant. Losing the child and never being able to replace it took you from me. You were never the same again. That loss was too much. Then, you left me alone."

"How?" she whispers, slowly rising from the floor and moving to stand behind Castiel.

Unsure of herself, she hesitantly stands behind him, afraid to reach out to him as she sees him silently shaking.

"One day," he brokenly begins whispering, "you handed me back the ring I gave you and informed me you were planning to say 'yes' to Azrael. Nothing I said would sway you. It was better to give in and hope Azrael could end the fighting than to continue fighting yourself when you had no willpower left, you told me. You just gave up. But it was too late. The demons had marked you, and when you said 'yes' to her, Lucifer had complete control of her. She was locked inside her vessel…inside you…and now…you are _both_ lost. Under Lucifer's complete command. His to control absolutely."

Castiel finally turns to face her, tears running brightly down his cheeks. "You left me," he whispers accusingly.

Her resolve breaks then, and she steps forward, pulling Castiel into her embrace as he wraps his arms desperately around her, pulling her almost too tightly against his chest, though she doesn't object. Instead, she holds him even closer, smoothing her hands soothingly up and down his back as she makes calming noises to him.

With his head in the crook of her neck, he tells her, "It may already be too late. That demon began marking you. It may already be enough to allow Lucifer control of Azrael should you say 'yes' to her. Promise me that you'll stay away when you return to your time. Promise me that you'll disappear."

"What about my brothers?" she whispers. "What about you?"

"I'll continue to look after them," he assures her, pushing back to grip her shoulders as he stares down into her eyes, tears shinning in his. "But, promise me you'll leave. Promise me."

Though she's not sure she can promise him such a thing, she can't bring herself to tell him that. She feels compelled to offer him some kind of assurance and relief for his the pain she sees burning so brightly.

"I promise I'll do whatever needs to be done. Anything."

He yanks her close again and hugs her gratefully, believing in what he wants to hear, just like he's done in the past when she's needed to lie to him without lying. He believes in what he wants to hear her say.

When he slowly releases her, she glances back towards the front of his cabin, thinking of him burying himself in drugs and decadence, and suddenly, she doesn't blame him in the slightest for his actions. As an angel, she realizes he's really _not_ accustomed, or perhaps even built for withstanding such things.

If she had mercy in her heart, she knows she would end whatever she has been doing with Castiel when she returns to her time. To keep him from falling the way he has and losing himself so absolutely.

Staring at the closed door, she softly asks, "If _you_ were the one to return to my time with all this knowledge, and not _me_ , would you still tell me the same thing? Would you tell me to run, or even run yourself and not let anything more happen between us? Would you keep it all from ever happening in the first place? Knowing what you do now, why did you even sleep with me today? Why let things continue to go on?"

When there's only silence, she glances back to see Castiel staring hard at the floor, his lips turned down into a frown. "I don't know," he admits.

"I don't either, Cas."

* * *

It's nearing dark when she finally slips back into her own cabin, intending to look through the dressers for different clothing since what she is wearing still has dried blood on it.

As she slides the bookshelf back into place across the passageway, someone suddenly clears their throat loudly behind her.

Hand against her thumping chest, she turns to face Dean.

The cold look in his eyes tells her it's not the one she came with.

"Umm…is there something you needed?" she asks hesitantly, wondering if he knows where she's been.

He's sitting at her desk, one of the drawers pulled out and a small leather-bound journal in his hands. She recognizes it as one she'd just bought in New Orleans in her own time. Its pages are filled with writing, wrinkled from use, and stuffed with other loose pages and objects as well.

Flipping it open, Future-Dean pulls out something and thrusts it out towards her.

"I really was blind, wasn't I?" he spits in a hard voice. "Just good friends, huh?" he sarcastically continues, standing and walking towards her. "Looks like a helluva lot more than that. I should have seen it when the two of you always wanted to be sent out together. And I really should have seen it when he fell apart after what happened to you. I just thought he rightly blamed himself for losing you."

Only a few feet away from her, he suddenly throws something at her, and she reacts quickly to snatch it up when it hits her chest. Glancing down, she sees another Polaroid, obviously from the same batch as the ones Castiel has; only this one appears to have been one she took, her arm partially out of the frame, holding the camera out to get both her and Castiel into the picture. She's smiling her too big, truly happy smile, and Castiel is wearing a smile unlike anything she's ever seen before, his gaze focused not on the camera, but turned on her with adoration.

"When did the two of you start screwing behind my back? Sometime _before_ the demons got ahold of you, or does it go _all the way back to now_ when you've been sent into the future? Is that it? Can't resist the hippie former angel and his free love crap?" he angrily demands, his voice soft, but with a razor edge.

Holding the picture protectively close to her chest, she truthfully admits, "Even longer than now."

Cussing under his breath, he stomps away from her and then back again. "I should kill him. If the two of you hadn't been fooling around, he wouldn't have lost all his mojo like he did, and then he could have kept you from getting captured by demons. Or at least healed you up after we found you. But the two of you are so _stupid_ with your little star-crossed forbidden lovers _crap_ , that you don't use your damn heads to see what a mistake this is!"

"Dean—"

"Don't," he interrupts. "You end this," he orders while pointing accusingly at her. "End it now. When you get back to your time, you don't let this continue. Maybe if the two of you aren't being sappy versions of Romeo and Juliet, neither of you will end up being worthless."

Drawing herself up to stand taller, Tabitha shoots back, "Don't even try to compare me to some teenage, love-sick little girl that kills herself, you ass. And don't presume to know anything about this, Dean. Castiel fell because he was trying to help us— _all of us_ —keep Lucifer from rising. Because he was trying to help save _humanity_. So stop trying to make this into a sappy, fatalistic melodrama. Because it's not."

Pointing an accusing finger at her, he challenges, "You so sure about that? Because if you are, you're dumber than I thought."

Dropping his hand, he disgustedly looks away. "You aren't gonna listen to anything I say anyway, are you? You'll keep right on the same path, because that's what I did." He snorts derisively. "Must be a Winchester family curse that causes us to just not learn." Stepping closer, he tells her, "Well here's one thing you need to damn well learn and remember: _Don't say 'yes' to that bitch_."

He spins around and turns to the door, with his hand on the handle, she calls out to him.

"Are you going to say anything to him?"

From the stiffness of his back, they both know whom she means.

With a narrowed look over his shoulder, he tells her, "No. Because I could hardly stand to look at Cas when he was just negligent in protecting his scouting partner. Knowing all this…I wish _I_ didn't know." He starts to open the door again, but pauses once more. Speaking to the door, he adds, "And I'm still hoping you'll be smart enough to get back to your time and end it. That way, there's nothing that I _need_ to know about. And I can remain pleasantly clueless."

He leaves with a loud thud of the slamming door.

* * *

That night, both Deans, Castiel, Tabitha, and a woman named Rissa are all gathered in the main cabin discussing Future-Dean's plans.

She'd been somewhat surprised when the future version of her brother had shown up telling her that both she and Dean were expected to come to his little pow-wow that night, but she'd been too interested in what was going on to question him.

When she arrived at the cabin, Dean had been pacing back and forth, as much on his mind as their appeared to be on her own, but they didn't speak, just nodded to each other.

As soon as Castiel had arrived, Tabitha felt a sensation of unease settle over her, and she'd begun pacing nervously around the cabin. In his future, they might have figured out how to pretend nothing was going on in front of others—and she'd even learned how to in her own present—but it was different now. Now that at least Future-Dean knew what was going on.

Castiel has changed since she last saw him, dressed in jeans and a dark blue jacket now that she can't help but admiring the rugged appearance of and the way they conform to his body. She likes him in jeans, she thinks to herself.

Future-Dean's glare at both her and Castiel cause her to jerk her eyes away however, and her pacing to increase.

Her very skin seems to feel Castiel watching her however as he stands near a wall sipping something from a tin cup.

Finally, trying to steady her nerves, she sits at the table in the middle of the room, crossing her arms behind her head to lend to the deception that she's at ease. It doesn't help that the other woman in the room, Rissa, has been splitting her time between glaring at each Dean and staring at Tabitha with a look that borders on hate and hysteria. Tabitha begins to think that if she moves too fast, the poor woman might jump out of her skin. And she fights the urge to jump while yelling "boo" at the woman, just to see what kind of a screamer she might be. It would be a change from the horrified staring.

And she wonders what one or both of the Deans have done to earn the brunette's glares. She'd almost rather have the woman glare at her instead of the stare of terror. Whatever one or both of them did, it might be worth doing as well.

"So, that's it?" Rissa finally asks, turning her eyes on the gun lying on the center of the table in front of Tabitha. "That's _the_ Colt?"

As she speaks, Castiel moves from his place at the wall, nonchalantly sitting across the corner of the table from Tabitha and propping his booted feet along the edge as he leans back in his chair towards her, still sipping from his cup.

Future-Dean leans heavily against the edge of the table, glaring between Tabitha and Castiel before he addresses Rissa. "If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it."

Castiel sets his cup on the table and slides it across the corner towards Tabitha, lowering his voice and telling her, "Here, this will settle your nerves."

Taking the old tin cup, she glances at Future-Dean's continued glare, amazed that Castiel is either so oblivious to the look of loathing he's being given, or just uncaring. Lifting the cup as she ignores the glare, she sniffs and turns a questioning look to Castiel, tilting the cup to examine the greenish liquid inside.

"Absinthe," he shrugs, flicking his hand at the dark bottle he'd plunked down on the table near the Colt.

It explains the strong herb smell of the liquor. Having only tasted absinthe a few times in college, she carefully sips from the cup, nearly coughing it back up when she swallows and feels its bitter taste.

"Straight?" she whispers in a strained voice, coughing a little more to clear suddenly burning lungs. "People usually drink this stuff with water to cut the high alcohol content."

He shrugs again. "I like it straight."

She shakes her head at his extreme tolerance of liquor, but does take a few more sips before passing the cup back across the table to him. The absinthe she'd had in the past had been a strong 130 proof—this tastes much stronger even than that. She wonders if it can double as lighter fluid. But the hint of licorice in it makes it palpable when slowly sipped. And as absinthe is known for, it soothes and relaxes her—while at the same time heightening her awareness of everything around her. Most notably, the former angel sitting only a foot away wearing a soft smile as he gauges her reaction to the drink.

Rissa seems to have dismissed Castiel, and finally Tabitha as well, her annoyed stare focused only on Future-Dean as she replies to his answer about the Colt killing Lucifer.

"Great," she tells him. "Have we got anything that can _find_ Lucifer?"

Future-Dean finally seems to notice her annoyance, turning his attention from his sister and the former angel to look at Rissa, asking her, "Are you okay?"

Dean quickly pipes up, seeming to find some kind of humor in the couple's spat. "Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night. And, apparently, we and…Rissa have a connection."

Castiel and Tabitha both stifle laughs at Future-Dean's annoyance and Rissa's outrage.

"You want to shut up?" Future-Dean orders as Dean raises his hands in surrender. Throwing a glare at Castiel's smirk, he snidely tells the former angel under his breath, "You wanna cop to what…or who _you_ been doing all afternoon?"

Unfazed by the blatant threat, Castiel raises his hands in fake surrender as well. And when Future-Dean pulls Tabitha into his glare, she smiles sweetly and shrugs in the innocence she'd perfected in her youth. Glad now that Castiel had given her the absinthe as she further relaxes, turning her back closer towards Castiel and propping her own feet along the table.

While Castiel chuckles at Future-Dean's clear annoyance, he slides his glass across to her again, laughing when she takes another sip, causing Future-Dean to growl low in his throat.

"We don't have to find Lucifer," Future-Dean continues in his authoritative tone, appearing to choose the path of ignoring his sister and Castiel. "We know where he is." Straightening, Future-Dean continues, "The demon we caught last week—he was one of the…big guy's entourage. He knew."

"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?" Rissa questions in disbelief.

"Oh, trust me—he wasn't lying."

"How can you be so sure?" Tabitha asks, leaning back further in her chair to balance it on its back legs.

It places her head closer to Castiel's and he tips his forehead towards her to explain, "Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting the truth."

"Really?" Tabitha wonders, turning more towards Castiel and seeing the truth in his uninterested shrug.

"Torture?" Dean questions, seeming more upset about the information than Tabitha is, though she thinks her mellow response might be due to the absinthe.

Dean stands and approaches his future self as he continues to question the revelation. "Oh, so, we're—we're torturing again. No, that's—that's good. Classy."

Castiel suddenly chuckles at Dean's response, startling Tabitha, who grins when she realizes how much she likes the sound of Castiel's laughter.

Future-Dean is less than pleased with the former angel's mirth. But Castiel continues to chuckle; looking to his "fearless leader," he defensively says, "What? I like 'past you.'"

Tilting her head closer, Tabitha agrees. "I know, _right_?" She looks across to Dean again, telling him, "I told you. You become a real dick in the future."

Once more, Future-Dean ignores his sister and Castiel, spreading out a map on the table as he explains, "Lucifer is here. Now, I know the block and I know the building."

They all lean forward to look where he's pointing.

It means nothing to Tabitha, but Castiel drops his feet from the table to casually comment, "Oh, good—it's right in the middle of a hot zone."

"Crawling with Crotes, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?"

"Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Crotes, and we shoot the Devil?" Castiel asks.

"Yes."

"Okay, if you don't like, uh, 'reckless,' I could use 'insouciant,' maybe," he primly responds.

"Or how about 'temerarious?'" Tabitha bitterly adds. "Or just plan idiotic. Or perhaps suicidal."

Castiel looks at her and nods with an appreciative agreement.

"You don't get a say," Future-Dean crossly tells her, then turns to Castiel, his voice almost daring as he asks, "Are you coming?"

He glances at her, and then glances at Dean before answering Future-Dean's question, sighing, "Of course." With a second glance at both Tabitha and Dean, he asks, "But why are _they_? I mean, he's you five years ago, and she…it's just not a good idea. If something happens to her… But if something happens to him…you're gone, right?"

"They're coming," Future-Dean orders in a tone that brooks no argument. He lowers his voice to viciously tell Castiel, "Besides, you'd have been better off worrying about Tab when it might have been useful."

Castiel flinches, but overall, acts as if the barb isn't a new one, softly replying, "Okay." Leaning back from the table and not looking at Tabitha, he pushes to his feet, announcing, "Well, uh…I'll get the grunts moving."

"We're loaded and on the road by midnight," Future-Dean declares.

When Tabitha wordlessly stands to follow Castiel, both Deans simultaneously demand, "Where are you going?"

At the door, she pauses to glare at Future-Dean, asking, "Was that really _necessary_? It wasn't his fault. You don't need to be such an ass."

"Where do you think you're going?" Future-Dean continues demanding.

"Anywhere but here," she snaps at him, and then with a pointed look at Dean, she asks, "You got a problem with that that you wanna talk about here and now?"

Future-Dean looks away with an expression of disgust, but doesn't say anything further, apparently not wanting his past self to know the truth. She takes the silence as her cue to leave.

"You should be careful," Castiel tells her when she catches up. "Where we're going…it's not safe and it's not a walk down the street."

"Walk in the park," she corrects. "And I never thought it was. But, I'll be okay. Azrael and Israfil sent me here to see what the future's like. They didn't send me here to get killed or something."

He relaxes slightly, finally looking at her and nodding. "I hate the thought of you going into a Crote hot zone again," he admits.

"I'll be fine," she repeats, but can see by his faraway look, that all he's thinking of and seeing is the time when she wasn't.

"You need to know something else," he whispers, his tone soft and regretful.

"What?"

"It's about Sam," he tells her. "He's not dead, either."

She stops in her tracks, forcing him to swing around to face her. Even without saying it, she knows by his apologetic look what he's afraid to say.

"He said 'yes,'" she whispers as understanding dawns.

"He said 'yes' to Lucifer," he softly agrees. "You both said 'yes.'"

"This plan is to kill our brother," she breaths out in stunned understanding.

"Yes."

* * *

Before they are set to jump into the now prepared vehicles to leave, Castiel suddenly pulls Tabitha around the corner of a cabin, tugging on her hand until they are out of sight from her brothers and everyone else.

"What?" she asks in confusion.

Without a word, he pulls her close, wrapping her in a hug that stings of desperation and longing. For a long time, he simply holds her close, saying nothing, but inhaling her scent deeply into his lungs.

Finally pushing her away, Castiel presses something into her palm, closing her fist around it before she can see it. But she can feel the smooth surface of the ring he'd shown her earlier in her closed fist without even looking.

"Keep this," he tells her. "I meant it for you, but the you in this time period, doesn't exist anymore."

She opens her mouth to object, but closes it when she sees the tears shinning in his eyes. "I think I see where I could have easily loved you," she whispers to him, the closest she's ever allowed herself to come to naming whatever it is she feels for the angel.

He smiles a little crookedly. "I think I've come to learn why angels were not intended to love any save our Father. There is such loss that comes with it…I don't know how humans survive such love."

"I sometimes wonder the same," she admits. To herself, she thinks that deep down, she can't imagine a life now without having had Castiel in it. No matter how painful. And no matter for how short a time.

She reaches up to gently splay her hand across his jaw, her thumb running across the stubble of his cheek as she stares up at him. Stretching onto her toes, she gives him a gentle kiss.

But when she begins to retreat, Castiel follows, one hand threading into her hair as his other yanks her thigh up to curl around his waist, pushing her backwards until the rough logs of the cabin behind her connect with her back.

"Jesus!" a nervous voice suddenly exclaims, forcing them to turn and look at the shocked prophet—their own Porny-Chuck—as he comes around the corner. "It was creepy enough without the time-travel mixed in. Would you two get a room!" he tells them. "You keep necking out here like a couple of teenagers and Dean's gonna catch you guys for sure—both of them. And then there's gonna be one dead, featherless angel around here."

The prophet shifts nervously from foot to foot as he avoids looking at them, his gaze darting around like one of the Dean's might pop out and kill _him_ or something.

"You know?" Tabitha starts to ask, reluctantly lowering her leg back to the ground even though Castiel doesn't relinquish his hold on her.

"Of course, you know," she quickly reminds herself when she remembers that Porny-Chuck's been writing their "gospel." I.e., porn-laced-romance-novels. She blushes as she wonders what else he's written since Castiel came along.

"Yeah, uh, who do you think helped you guys keep things quiet all the time and helped you sneak around?" he responds.

Her respect for the man ratchets up a few degrees—she even decides to upgrade him to bring called simply, Chuck—and after Castiel presses a last parting kiss to her lips and releases her, she tells Chuck, "Thank you. For everything you have and will do for us."

"Yeah," he stammers, "Just, uh, do me a favor. If Dean ever does find out about… _this_ …don't tell him that I ever knew."

As he hurries away, Castiel places one last kiss on her forehead and draws back, reluctantly telling her, "We should get going as well, I guess."

"Yeah," she whispers in agreement, following a few steps behind him and wishing she could walk beside him holding his hand.

She wonders if the day will ever come when they are able to freely walk beside each other.

* * *

An hour later, Tabitha finds herself riding in the backseat, Castiel driving, and her brother riding shotgun. Awkward as the arrangement is, she finds herself thankful that Future-Dean isn't with them, too.

As Castiel drives, he opens a pill bottle and tosses a few back, silently holding them over his shoulder to Tabitha.

When she takes them and opens the bottle curiously, Dean swipes the bottle from her hands, suspiciously telling her, "Let me see those."

"You want some?" Castiel asks him.

Holding the prescription bottle up to read in the moonlight, Dean says, "Amphetamines?"

"It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe," Castiel tells them, glancing meaningfully back at Tabitha.

Shrugging, Tabitha takes the bottle again and tosses back one of the pills, thinking to herself that she probably did worse in college when she was experimenting during her wild days.

Over his shoulder, Dean dubiously asks her, "You're drinking absinthe and doing drugs now? Some Fed you are."

She laughs, still feeling the mellowness of the absinthe in her system as she points out, "I'm an ex-Fed, or dead-Fed…I'm whatever it is when the FBI thinks you're dead, but you're not really. But regardless, I don't have mandatory drug testing anymore. So, yay me. And, you know, when in Rome…" She trails off and waves her hand.

"Rome has a beautiful countryside," Castiel says then. "I would have enjoyed seeing it with you."

Dean looks curiously back and forth between Castiel and Tabitha as she laughs in the back seat.

"It's just an expression, Cas. I wasn't actually talking about _being_ in Rome."

His frown spreading, Dean clears his throat and tells Castiel, "Don't get me wrong, Cas. I, uh…I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass…" he glances back at Tabitha, "and glad to see that _you're_ still a happy drunk…" focusing on Castiel again, he continues, "but…what's going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"

For a second, Castiel looks uncomfortably in the rearview mirror at Tabitha. When she realizes he's gauging her reaction, she shrugs to show that it doesn't matter to her now. She's made peace with his actions.

Tossing back his head, Castiel suddenly begins laughing.

"What's so funny?" Dean asks.

Tabitha leans forward as well, curious by Castiel's reaction, and wondering if the absinthe is still strong in his system.

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore," he explains to her brother.

"What?" Dean stares at him in shock, but Tabitha leans back and rolls her eyes, wondering what about that tickles Castiel's funny bone.

"Yeah, I went mortal," he continues, now avoiding her eyes.

"What do you mean? How?"

"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving," Castiel quietly says. His eyes lock ever so briefly with Tabitha's in the mirror, and she wonders at the significance of his almost nervous glance. He jerks his eyes away to look at the road as he adds, "But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of…" He makes a gesture with his hands and sucks a breath through his teeth— "Shhrr!—Drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless," he explains, and she remembers Future-Dean telling him those exact words.

"Last year, broke my foot—laid up for two months." He lowers his voice and adds, "I can't protect anyone anymore."

"Wow," Dean says, not noticing the way Tabitha cringes and turns towards the side window.

"Yeah," Castiel confirms.

"So, you're human." At the nod of the former angel, he adds, "Well, welcome to the club," And then he turns to look out his own window.

"Thanks," Castiel returns, his eyes on the road. "Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I'm powerless…I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I mean, why the hell _not_ bury myself in women and decadence, right? It's the end, baby, that's what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?"

Castiel pauses, and finally looks up into the mirror again, meeting Tabitha's gaze as she cringes to hear her own words thrown back at her. What she wouldn't give to take them back now…now that she knows how hard it had been for the former angel. Now that she knows what he'd really been through.

She mouths an _I'm sorry_ , but Castiel tears his eyes away, hurt still shinning in them as he adds, "But, then…that's just how I roll," laughing a little bitterly as the vehicle falls silent.

* * *

The sheer destruction of buildings still amazes Tabitha as they carefully pick their way through the littered streets. There's almost nothing about the city that's recognizable to give her any hint to where they even are. So she and Dean simply follow the others, who warily watch every building and every side street, looking for possible attacks.

Though she'd wanted a gun—as had Dean—they were ordered to remain in the middle of the group without weapons. Neither Dean nor Tabitha were happy about it.

Finally, they reached an area fenced in and topped with razor wire, a sign reading Jackson County Sanitarium. It appears to be the area of the city Future-Dean has been looking for.

Looking through binoculars, Future-Dean points out, "There, second-floor window. We go in there." He hands the binoculars back to Castiel who has crouched behind him to look over his shoulder.

Tabitha starts to sneak forward to see whatever they're looking at, but Dean tugs on her elbow, holding her back and off to the side where they've crouched near another overturned car.

"You sure about this?" Rissa dubiously asks Future-Dean.

"They'll never see us coming," their fearless leader assures them. "Trust me."

Tabitha can feel Dean stiffen beside her, and she worriedly tugs his arm, whispering, "He's lying to them." When he gives her a questioning look, she rolls her eyes. "You think I don't know when you're lying? I know every little expression you make when you lie. The way you shift your eyes and the way your voice becomes almost emotionless when you're trying to convince someone of something you know is bullshit."

He snorts, but agrees. "You're right, he's lying to them." But he still holds her back with him, off to the side from the others.

Future-Dean continues telling his people, "Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five."

"Hey, uh…me," Dean says beside her. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Dean stands to follow his future self, but Tabitha pulls away.

"Where are you going?" he whispers furiously at her.

"I want to talk to Cas," she hisses back when he grabs at her. "You go talk to yourself. I'm talking to Cas."

She doesn't wait for his reaction, moving forward to catch the former angel's eyes and motioning for him to follow her as her brothers head the other direction to talk.

Once she's out of sight of the others, Tabitha turns to face Castiel behind her. "We need to talk," she warningly explains.

"I don't like you being here," he repeats, frowning at her as she frowns at the sight he makes.

He's dressed as he had been the night before, but with the additions of a submachine gun, a Heckler & Koch MP5, if she's not mistaken. The sight is altogether strange to her; she's never seen her Castiel, the angel, even handle a gun before.

Before she can tell him about her concerns, he steps closer, pulling a Beretta from his waistband at his back, handing it to her. "It shoots straight, never had it jam," he explains, curling her fingers around the grip of the gun. "Take it, and watch yourself. Be careful. Israfil should be watching to make sure you don't get hurt, but it's dangerous since Zachariah sent Dean here, too. Zachariah will likely do what he can to ensure you _don't_ make it back to your time intact."

"Why?" she demands, her fingers closing around the pistol with an easy familiarity. "Why is Zach trying _so hard_ to have me killed? Why is Lucifer trying _so hard_ to capture me? Why is Azrael _so_ important?"

Castiel slides his MP5 around on its strap to his side, using both hands to hold and caress her face. "All that's important is that you _don't_ say 'yes.' All you need to know is that while she'll tell you that she can stop the battle between Michael and Lucifer, it could be too dangerous now for her to try. If Lucifer manages to bind her to him through _you_ …that would be disastrous for everyone. Especially you. Just…stay away from her."

"But…what if she's right? If there's a way that she can actually stop all this…stop Lucifer and Michael from fighting…then why isn't that a good thing? I don't understand. The demons haven't gotten me yet. They didn't finish marking me or whatever."

Yanking her closer, Castiel stresses, " _Don't_. No matter what, don't give in to her. You don't understand the ramifications."

Folding her hands over his against her face, she pleads, "Then make me. I don't get any of this. If she can stop it all…how is that a bad thing? How _else_ is this ever going to end, Cas? You know Dean. He'll never say 'yes' to Michael. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when saying 'yes' means they have a Battle Royale and roast half the planet. And Lucifer isn't going to just wake up one day and realize the errors of his ways. Finally see that he's just been experiencing some growing pains from no longer being the favorite baby of the family that gets all of dad's love and attention. So how else do we stop it?"

"We kill the Devil," Future-Dean reminds them as he appears behind Castiel.

Castiel's hands immediately fall away from her face, a look of pain and guilt filling his expression.

"You've got orders," Future-Dean reminds him.

When the former angel hesitates with a look of longing her way, Future-Dean takes a step closer, reminding him, "She may look like my sister, the woman you lost with your incompetence…but _she isn't_. You can fool yourself and try to pretend that you've redeemed yourself because she's here now and you can try to tell her things that will keep you from losing her like you already did. But we both know the score on that one. You can't change the past."

He throws a look at Tabitha. "Even when you bring the past into the future. I never learned, and neither will she. We were alike in that, I guess."

Turning back to Castiel, he gives him a loath filled look. "You wanna finally do right by my sister, then help me _free_ her. Do your job for once, and help me gank the Devil."

When Castiel starts to turn away from her, she reaches out to grab his hand, leaning closer to whisper, "Don't trust him. I know Dean. Past, present, or future. And he's _lying_. Something about all of this is off. We're supposed to be in such a dangerous area, but where's the danger, Cas? It's like they rolled out the red carpet for us. You said it would be filled with Crotes and demons. But there's been nary a one."

"Of course it's a trap," he whispers back. "You think I don't know that. But we all have our roles to play. And he's right… _you_ were right. You're not her. It's been a nice diversion to have a version of you back again. Even for a while. It's eased the guilt in my heart. But you're not her. _She's_ out there. And if this plan kills the Devil. _She'll_ be free. Or at least, not leashed to his side. And maybe I'll get to see her again…one last time."

He pulls away and leaves, walking out of sight before she can say another word or even utter goodbye to him. She doesn't say anything, but can't help thinking that she's not ready for things to end between them. Not ready for whatever she and any version of Castiel had to be the end. _Don't let it be the end. Don't let it really end like this,_ she thinks to herself.

Jabbing at the suspicious wetness gathering at the corner of her eyes, she stiffly asks Future-Dean, "Where's my brother? The two of you left to talk, but I don't see him."

He stands staring imposingly down at her for several moments, his arms crossed aggressively over his chest. When he finally speaks, it's in a hard voice. "I told him that there was something he needed to see. He didn't like my methods. I see that you don't approve of them either."

"What, sending your friends to their slaughter knowingly? Or your continued treatment and blame of Castiel for something that wasn't his fault as far as I can tell," she bites off.

"As far as you can tell," he snidely repeats. "But _you_ weren't here."

"Where is Dean?" she demands again, glancing around the small clearing they're in, as close as he's stayed to her since they arrived in the hot zone, she's surprised not to see him rounding a corner to scold her for straying out of his sight.

"He's…thinking things over," Future-Dean replies a little too slowly. "When he's ready, he'll see what he needs to see."

On alert, she nervously replies, "You're lying hasn't changed in years. You still give the same little nose wrinkle when you're trying to be too careful about what you say."

"It doesn't matter," he answers. "You need to see this, too. Cas was right about one thing, you absolutely _can't_ say 'yes' to her. We're all dead if you do."

Annoyed by the future version of her brother, she pushes by him. "Whatever. I'm looking for Dean."

It doesn't take her long to find him. She passes the area the rest of the group had been waiting in, pausing to watch as Castiel leads them through the fence and towards the former sanitarium building. She watches as they get smaller and smaller in the distance, but Castiel never once looks back. Her last glimpse of him is the former angel carefully edging around the corner of the building.

Turning away, she starts in the direction she'd last seen the two Deans wander off in.

Only a few dozen feet away, she finds Dean face down, unconscious on the ground as rapid gunfire sounds in the distance.

Urgently shaking his shoulder as she kneels by him, she frantically tries to wake him. "Come on, Dean, wakeup," she commands him.

Suddenly, his eyes clear and she helps steady him as he sits up.

"I knock myself out again and…" he trails off in his slightly slurred threat. "What's that?" he tips his head at the sound of the gunfire.

With a grim look, she tells him, "The trap they were walking into, I think."

Dean grabs her hand and pulls her with him as they run towards the gunfire. They can both see the windows of the sanitarium lit up by the gunfire inside on various floors.

When she starts in the direction she'd seen Cas and the others go, Dean tugs on her hand. "They went this way," she tells him.

"But I didn't. He…I…whatever, used them as a diversion. It's too late to help them by running into a trap after them. Just…come on," he impatiently tells her.

Though she knows in her heart that he's right, she still casts a longing look over her shoulder before allowing Dean to pull her on with him, praying that Castiel somehow makes it out of the mess he's willingly walked into.

As they round the corner of the sanitarium, they can see Future-Dean on the ground, a man dressed in white standing over him, holding him down with one white dress shoe against his throat. Before they can move, the man twists his foot, breaking Future-Dean's neck.

At the soft gasp that escapes from Tabitha, the man turns around, lightening flashing in the sky, and they finally see him. Their brother. Lucifer.

"Oh," he tells them. "Hello, Dean. Hello, Tabitha."

Dean slides a hand in front of Tabitha, pushing her slightly behind himself as the thing wearing their brother continues to speak.

"Aren't the two of you a surprise," he continues to congenially tell them.

Lightning flashes again, and Tabitha suddenly feels someone breathing down her neck.

"Still fresh and unmarked," Sam's voice breathes in her ear, somehow instantly appearing behind her.

Gasping again, she twirls around, only to have Dean shove her behind him again as he twists to face Lucifer in their little brother's body.

"You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" Lucifer asks him then.

Dean stiffens his back in front of her, standing taller as he tells Lucifer, "Well, go ahead. Kill me."

"Kill you?" Lucifer casts a curious look at the future version of Dean lying dead on the ground. "Don't you think that would be a little…redundant?"

Lucifer heaves a weary sigh. "I'm sorry. It must be painful…speaking to me in this…shape. But it _had_ to be your brother," he tells them as he stalks closer. Dean backs up a step, his hand snaking behind his back to grip Tabitha again, as though to reassure himself that she's still safe behind him. "It had to be," Lucifer continues as he reaches out to place a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean pulls back, pushing her with him.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean," Lucifer continues assuring. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

As Lucifer walks past them, Dean loosens his grip a little, but still maneuvers so that he keeps Tabitha at his back.

"I don't know," Dean answers. "Maybe deep-fry the planet?"

Lucifer stops to examine a rose, but at Dean's accusation, turns to face them again. "Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing…beautiful in a trillion different ways…the last perfect handiwork of God?"

He pauses, and then asks them, "You ever hear the story of how I fell from Grace?"

"Oh, good god," Dean says in exasperation. "You're not gonna tell us a bedtime story, are you? My stomach's almost out of bile."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Lucifer continues. "You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him. More than anything. And then God created…" Lucifer lets out a strained chuckle, "…you. The little…hairless apes. And then he asked all of us to bow down before _you_ —to love _you_ more than _him_. And I said, 'Father…I can't.' I said, 'These human beings are flawed, murderous.' And for that…God had Michael cast me into Hell. Now, tell me…does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right? Look what six billion of you have done to this thing. And how many of you blame _me_ for it?"

"You're not fooling me. You know that?" Dean replies, his voice full of emotion. "With this sympathy-for-the-Devil crap. I know what you are."

"What am I?"

"You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach we've been squashing our whole lives—an ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego."

Lucifer looks over Dean's shoulder at Tabitha. "You really think so, too? You who has seen the darkness and depravity of all of mankind. Seen the terrors that man commits even without any outside supernatural influence."

Seeing Dean's hand reach out blindly behind him, she steps forward to grip his hand again, offering and accepting support as she nods. "I'm with Dean all the way. There are a lot of good people out there that you're talking about slaughtering. And yeah, there are bad ones, too. There are bad ones in any group. But, then…you're proof of that, aren't you?"

His smile falters for just a second, but it soon widens into a benevolent smile as Lucifer tells them, "I like the two of you. I get what the other angels see in both of you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon," he nods, turning away.

"You better kill me now!" Dean shouts after him.

Turning to face them, Lucifer asks, "Pardon?"

"You better kill me now," Dean repeats as Tabitha keeps her grip on her brother's hand, but moves to stand beside him, defiantly raising her chin to support his words.

"Or, I swear," Dean continues, "I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."

"I know you won't," Lucifer answers. "I know you won't say 'yes' to Michael, either." He looks over at Tabitha. "Just like I know you _will_. You will say 'yes' and do _anything_ to help your brothers. And I know neither of you will kill Sam. Whatever either of you do…you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, _we_ will always end up…here. I win. So, I win."

"You're wrong," Tabitha whispers, hearing her voice break.

"See you in five years, Dean," he says. Looking to Tabitha, he tells her, "See you sooner than that, Tabitha."

Lightning flashes and she can feel Dean turn to look behind him, and then…he disappears, leaving her alone in the clearing facing Lucifer.

He smiles at her. "I'm glad you're still here," he tells her. "There's someone you should meet."

Turning, he smiles and looks expectantly behind him. And as she watches, she sees a woman in a white dress, almost gliding along. Beautiful and ethereal like Lucifer…if not for the man she half drags behind her with the ease of a child tugging a rag-doll along.

When she reaches Lucifer, she heaves the man in front of her.

As the man falls to his knees, bloody and gasping for breath, Tabitha's heart drops. The bloody man on his knees is Castiel.

Looking up again, Tabitha sees herself. A mirror image of herself, dressed in plain, pristine white, spaghetti-strap dress. Its white too brilliant and white for having dragged a bloody man around. Her hair is loose past her shoulders, but it's the almost vacant stare in her eyes that keeps Tabitha from running forward to help Castiel.

As she watches, Lucifer moves to stand behind the woman in white, running a finger almost lovingly across her cheek before he looks up at Tabitha.

"This was always how it was meant to be," he smugly tells her. "My sister will always come to me…side with me."

Tabitha stares in horror at herself, seeing the vacant way…Future-Tabitha stands and stares, unmoving and unblinking. "She hasn't sided with anyone," Tabitha says in horror. "She may as well be a puppet with you pulling her strings."

Lucifer lets out a short snort, smiling at her as if she just doesn't understand. As he moves to Future-Tabitha's other side, he gently runs his hand down her motionless arm, gently scolding her, "You've finished all the others and brought our little brother here, Azrael. But it's time to finish this. Finish him."

Castiel finally looks up from his knees, his face streaked with blood and one eye swollen shut as he stares into Future-Tabitha's face. "It's alright," he tells her, his voice soft and wheezing. "I'm here, angel. I'm here, Tabitha. I'm here for you."

Turning, he meets Tabitha's eyes one last time. "Don't say 'yes.' Don't ever say 'yes' to her," he pleads. "Don't let it end. Not here. Not like this."

Eyes unblinking and unfeeling, Future-Tabitha's head tilts as she looks down at him. She moves no more than that, and suddenly Castiel pitches over to his side, falling dead as Tabitha gasps and presses her hands to her mouth in shock.

"That's not me…and that's not even your sister anymore," Tabitha gasps as she stares in horror at herself. There's nothing of herself or the angel left in that woman. She's just an empty shell of power, forced to do Lucifer's bidding.

Lucifer doesn't look up at her for a moment, continuing to run his hand gently up and down the motionless arm of the woman standing slightly in front of him. "Azrael is in there. So are you," he explains, finally looking up. "And one day, Azrael will see that I've bound her for her own good. To keep her from acting as she thinks our Father would want. One day, she'll see that I'm just trying to save her…and this world." His smile turns to that condescending benevolence again. "I'm not the evil monster here. I'm trying to _save_ this world. _Keep_ it from being destroyed. She'll understand that one day. And…so will you."

Lightning flashes even closer, forcing Tabitha's eyes closed, and then, suddenly, she's standing once more in the alleyway in New Orleans where she'd been what feels like years ago.

"Jesus, Tabitha," Cort exclaims, yanking her close as her eyes jump around the alley. Her stomach lurches as she regains her balance again in the present. She's never felt like her insides had been scrambled like they've felt each time Israfil has hurled her somewhere, but then, every other time she's gone somewhere with an angel, they hadn't had the power to overcome her charms, and she'd had to mentally reach out to them to make it work. She understands now why Dean has complained every time the angels have sent him anywhere.

"That is what will happen," the craggy voice of Israfil tells her, drawing her attention to where he stands in the alley. "That is what will happen if you don't say 'yes' _now_. Say 'yes' now, _before_ the demons get a hold of you. _Before_ Lucifer destroys half of this planet. Say 'yes' to Azrael now, and let her _finish_ this, without bloodshed."

Standing in front of Cort, Tabitha holds her hands out protectively in front of him, backing up, and forcing him to back with her towards the mouth of the alleyway. Cort had been unconscious when she'd left, but a bit of time seems to have passed since he's now awake.

Israfil takes a few steps towards her. "It's useless to run from me," he tells her. "I've found you now, and Azrael tires of waiting. You will come with me, and you _will_ say 'yes' to her."

Mind filled with the image of her future-self, no more than a vacant shell, fills her mind. The memory of herself killing Castiel without even moving is so fresh, she can still hear Castiel's broken voice assuring her that it was okay, knowing exactly what she was about to do to him.

Tears run down her cheeks as she tells Azrael, "I'll die before I say 'yes' to her. I won't risk it."

"It would save him."

Her eyes widen at his statement, knowing exactly whom Israfil means.

"I won't risk there ever being a future where I'm the one that does that. Where I _kill_ him," she vehemently promises.

"We'll see," Israfil replies, walking faster towards them.

Cort suddenly yanks her back from the alley, slamming his palm against the brick building facing the sidewalk as Israfil comes around the corner and yells, "No!"

Light fills the sidewalk as the angel disappears.

"Glad to see that really does work," Cort contemplatively says, staring down at his bloody palm and the bloody sigil he'd drawn on the brick.

"I'm glad now I showed you how to do that," she whispers. "I didn't think the angels would find me here, but I'm glad now I took the precaution."

"Where the hell did you go?" Cort asks her, turning her away from the alleyway to face him. "You were gone nearly fifteen minutes. Like to have scared the tar out of me."

"Fifteen minutes," she repeats. "I was gone days," she tells him, looking away as she uncomfortably shoves her hands into her pockets.

She can feel him look her up and down. "I don't even know how that's possible, but you're not wearing what you were a few minutes ago." He reaches out to rub his thumb across her cheek, wiping something away. "And you're spattered in blood. Where were you?"

Her eyes close, not wanting to see Cort when she'd last seen him as a Crote, and guilt filling her heart at the concern in his voice when her own heart is still filled with grief for what had happened to Castiel.

Opening her eyes and forcing herself to meet Cort's gaze, she rubs the contents of her pockets, feeling the two objects in her hands. In her right hand, a worn and creased Polaroid photo, and in her left, the smooth hard surface of black gold that she rubs between her thumb and forefinger.

Holding his gaze, she lowly tells Cort, "I saw my future ring." Momma Cecile's words—at least some of them—finally make sense. It's time for her to leave—would be even if angels didn't know where she was.

And as she speaks to Cort, she lets the ring slide onto and off her ring finger in her pocket, its weight in her hand heavier now than it had been before.

* * *

Dean feels himself yanked away from Zachariah, he'd been bracing himself for the angel's attack after he'd told the angel that he wouldn't say "yes" to Michael, no matter what the Back to the Future trip they'd rigged up had shown him. He'd learned a lesson on that trip, but it wasn't the one that the angels had wanted him to learn. He'd realized that he needed to keep his family close. He had to protect Sam and Tabitha. He couldn't let them go out on their own anymore. Couldn't let…those dick angels have his little brother and sister.

Looking around, he realizes he's no longer in the motel where Zachariah had brought him back to. Now he's standing alongside an empty highway somewhere in the countryside.

A chuckle of relief escapes as he turns to see Castiel behind him.

"That's pretty nice timing, Cas."

"We had an appointment," the angel replies.

Remembering the laughing, love-guru, drug-using, hippie-former-angel he'd become in that trip to the future, Dean grabs Castiel's shoulder, advising him, "Don't ever change."

"How did Zachariah find you?" Castiel asks in his thankfully no-nonsense manner.

"Long story. Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?"

He pulls out his cell phone as he talks, intending to finally call Tabitha back, needing to know if she'd really been pulled into the future with him, and if so, if she'd made it back okay, as well.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks.

"I need to make sure Tabitha got back okay, too."

"Tabitha?" Castiel asks in surprise, stepping a little closer.

Dean pauses in dialing, glancing over at the obvious concern on the angel's face. Suddenly he remembers the way Tabitha had sought out Castiel's company in the future. He'd thought she'd done it just because she knew him and he was familiar to her. Now though, he remembers the two of them sitting beside each other that night, drinking absinthe together.

She'd been giggling and smiling at the hippie angel, but that hadn't seemed so strange to him at the time. Girl was almost always a happy drunk. He'd only once seen the mean drunk in her.

But Castiel… He realizes now that the guy had been smiling back at her. Smiling and giving her an almost…tender look when he glanced across the corner of the table at her beside him. Was he…

"What happened to Tabitha?" Castiel urgently asks, his voice low and intense as he stares at Dean.

"Some dude named Israfil hurled her into the future, too," he explains, looking the angel up and down as he wonders to himself.

"You don't…like…dig my sister or something, do you?" he hesitantly asks, thinking to himself that _that_ would be strange and awkward.

"What would I dig her out of?" the angel replies, his face drawn in confusion.

Dean relaxes as the momentary suspicion bleeds away. Of course nothing was going on. "Nothing," he laughs. "Never mind, Cas."

He finishes dialing the number to Tabitha's cell, waiting for her to answer.

" _Finally_ ," she sighs in exasperation. " _Was beginning to wonder if your phone skills didn't work anymore_."

"You…okay?" he hesitantly asks, unsure if she really _had_ gone to the future with him, or if that had been some trick of Zachariah's, too.

She sighs again. " _Yeah, I'm okay_ ," she softly explains. " _Israfil brought me back, too. And luckily, Cort had drawn an angel banishing sigil to get rid of him by the time we reappeared. I'm just packing up now to get out of here_."

He can hear Cort's voice arguing with her in the background, but he clenches his jaw at the sound of the other man's voice and asks her instead, "Where are you going?"

" _I…I guess I don't know yet_." It's her turn for her voice to turn hesitant.

"We need to stick together," he rushes to tell her, driven by the need to have both of his little siblings back in his sight where he can protect them. For however long he can. "I'm sorry for everything from before. But we need to stick together. _All_ of us, Tab. You, me, and Sammy, too. I'll call Sam and figure out a place to meet that's pretty central for all three of us."

He doesn't ask where she is, he'd already known about her being in New Orleans with Cort, but he pushes the initial anger away at knowing she's there with him. It doesn't matter anymore that she defied him and had gone to the hunter…even though he still didn't trust the guy…he just wants his little sister back at his side. Where he can protect her, and she can help him watch out for Sammy. Like they did in the old days.

"Tabby?" he asks when she's silent for too long.

" _I'm…here_ ," she whispers almost haltingly. " _Does that mean you forgive me? For everything? Can we go back to the way things were before…before_ everything _. Before I left…before when you and I were a_ team _?_ "

He closes his eyes as he remembers their confrontation in future-bizarro-world at Bobby's place. Until that argument, he hadn't realized himself how angry and hurt he'd been with her leaving him and taking off to live her own life while he'd stayed and been the dutiful son alone. And he realizes how much he'd missed her, even in the nearly year that she'd been back with them hunting again. He'd still missed her. Missed the team they'd once been. Hell, he missed the team he and Sammy had once been.

He's missed both his little brother _and_ his little sister. He'd missed them for a long, long time, too.

" _Are you there, Dean?_ " she asks into the silence.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I want that, too. I want us to be the team we were before. We need to stick together if we're gonna protect Sammy from what's coming."

He hears her let out a soft exhale. " _Yeah, from Lucifer himself,_ " she agrees. Softly, she assures him, " _Dean, I'll do whatever it takes to protect you and Sammy. Anything. I promise you that._ "

With a faint smile, he tells her, "I'll let you know where Sammy and I decide to meet."

Ending the call, he dials Sam's number, telling the curious angel as he looks on, "Now, I'm gonna do something else I should have done a long time ago."

"Tabitha is okay?" Castiel softly inquires, his eyes still staring at the phone in Dean's hand.

Dean frowns at the question, briefly wondering again what the reasons are for the angel's obvious concern about his sister. They couldn't have…gotten together? he wonders to himself.

"Naw," he softly consoles himself, remembering the way the angel had freaked out when he'd tried to get him laid not that long ago. True, the angel had become a voracious love-guru in the future, but that had probably taken all of those five years for him to work up to from nerdy virgin angel.

And he realizes that if Castiel had been asking about Sam in the same situation, he wouldn't have batted an eye at the angel's concern.

To himself, he thinks, _Probably still just wound up about her making time with that damn asshole in New Orleans even after I told her to stay away from him and other hunters. Yeah, that's probably it,_ he convinces himself.

* * *

Tabitha can see Dean and Sam standing beside their cars as she drives up the side road under the bridge Dean had chosen. Driving the motorcycle between the two cars, she pulls her helmet off, glancing back and forth between the two of them in the ensuing silence.

"Sam just got here, too," Dean assures her, barely glancing down at the motorcycle she's straddling.

Sam steps away from where he'd been leaning against his car, taking in her motorcycle, leather jacket, and black helmet. "Nice look," he says with a wan smile.

"Thanks," she softly says, looking down at the motorcycle Cort had insisted she take, even knowing she'd likely have to leave it behind.

Looking between her two brothers, she recalls Future-Castiel's desperate pleas with her to return to her time period and then disappear. At the time, she had made a vague promise to do whatever she needed to, but even after seeing what that future had in store, she had still chosen to return to her brothers. No matter what might be the smart choice, she can't run now. She won't. She can't leave her brothers. Not again.

And after all, she is a Winchester. They don't always make the smart choice. She's no different.

Her brothers move closer to her between the two cars as she steps off the bike, cementing her choice. No matter what the future field trip had shown, she's won't believe it. The only possible future she'll believe in is the one they make together.

"Sam, Tab," Dean greets.

They each nod in return.

In the tense silence, Dean pulls out Ruby's knife, considering it for a moment before holding the blade out towards Sam, handle first, telling him, "If you're serious and you want back in…you should hang on to this. I'm sure you're rusty."

He glances at Tabitha. "You said you were still hunting in New Orleans?"

She nods, giving him a lopsided smile as she pulls out her Glock 22 from the shoulder holster she'd worn inside her jacket. "Don't worry," she assures him. "I didn't get rusty over the past three months on my own."

Dean frowns a little at the reminder of how long they've been apart, apologetically telling them, "Look, guys, I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm…whatever I need to be. But I was, uh…wrong."

"I was, too, Dean," Tabitha tells him, lowering her eyes. "We need each other. You know that." Dean meets her eyes and nods at their shared understanding of why they have to stick together.

"What made you guys change your minds?" Sam tentatively asks.

After sharing another look with Tabitha, Dean says, "Long story. The point is…we _are_ each other's Achilles' heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human."

"Thank you," Sam tells them. "Really. Thank you. I won't let you guys down."

"Oh, I know it," Dean replies. "Neither of you will. I mean, you guys _are_ the second and third-best hunters on the planet." Smirking in familiar Dean fashion, he adds, "I'll let you guys figure out which is which."

Sam smiles and asks, "So, what do we do now?"

"We make our own future," Dean answers.

"Together," Tabitha tacks on. "And damn anyone else trying to stop us."

Nodding, Sam replies, "Guess we have no choice."

"We'll stick together," Tabitha agrees. "Until the end. Whatever that may be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews! You guys amaze and humble me. :)
> 
> Thanks! And feed the writer with your thoughts! I get hungry. :)


	7. Sweet Child O' Mine

Tabitha looks up as Dean enters their motel room with a raw ham. It seems a little on the nose, but she supposes there are worse things he could have chosen to test their theory.

However…wacky their current case might be, she is at least glad that the three of them are jelling together better as a team finally. She just hopes never to see a creature imitating Paris Hilton again. Or ever see the real Paris Hilton for that matter. Their first case back together had been…a little rocky…but things seem to be going smoother now.

If one didn't count the non-kosher experiments they were currently conducting in their room.

The month they'd been back together since…the future field trip had mostly been spent searching for the Colt. But to no avail. Still, Dean has been persistent, refusing to give up looking for it. And Tabitha has to admit, trying to find the Colt seems like a better idea than any of them saying yes to their assigned angel pals.

"Put these on," Dean tells his little sister and brother, passing out welder's goggles.

Sam dons his, but Tabitha looks skeptically at hers.

"Do you really think this is necessary?" she asks her brothers, looking dubiously at the chunk of ham on the table.

"This thing electrocuted some guy, Tab, humor me," Dean answers, pulling a pair of rubber gloves on.

Dean takes out the joke buzzer supposedly responsible for electrocuting a man to death while Sam and Tabitha back up a few steps.

"Hit it, Mr. Wizard," Sam directs.

Dean lowers the joke buzzer to the ham. At the sound of sizzling meat and the smell of cooking ham, Tabitha jumps back a bit, glaring at Sam when he looks back to laugh at her reaction.

"I'll be damned," she says as Dean pulls his hand away from a now fully cooked ham.

"Told you there was something funky going down in this town," Dean triumphantly crows. He looks back at the ham, smirking. "That'll do, pig."

"What the hell?" Sam asks as he comes closer. "That crap isn't supposed to _work_."

"How's it even possible?" Tabitha asks, creeping a little closer, but carefully staying behind her brothers. "It doesn't even have batteries."

"So…so, what?" Sam stammers. "Are—are we looking at cursed objects?"

"Sounds good," Dean agrees, pulling out his switchblade. "Maybe there's a powerful witch in town."

Dean uses his knife to cut a hunk of ham off, stuffing it in his mouth as he continues, "Is there any link between the, uh, the joy buzzer and the itching powder?"

Tabitha shudders as she steps away, warning her brother, "You really shouldn't eat that. Who _knows_ what that might be doing to you." She steps over to the table to get her notes, telling her brothers, "The buzzer was made in China, the, uh…powder was made in Mexico."

"Damn, what's your problem, girl?" Dean asks, laughing a little as he continues pulling off ham to eat.

"What?" she asks in confusion.

"You haven't stopped fretting and playing with your hair since we left the morgue and saw that babysitter. What's your problem?" Dean asks.

Tabitha glances at her hands, startled to realize she has indeed pulled her hair over one shoulder, her hands knotting and twisting it nervously. With a conscious effort, she shoves her loose blonde hair back over her shoulder again.

"I don't know what you mean," she insists.

Sam suddenly starts laughing. "That one really freaked you out, huh?" he chuckles, stepping closer to swish his hand teasingly through her hair.

Twisting around, she tells him with a narrowed gaze, "It's nothing."

"Naw," Dean argues, smirking with unrestrained amusement. "Sammy's right. You been freaking out since the morgue. You didn't even want to look at the girl. And come on, you've seen some gruesome stuff. Are you telling me you're really freakin' out about this girl pulling her hair out and trying to scratch out her brains?" He glances at Sam and shakes his head. "Who knew Tabby really _could_ be so girly?"

"Ha, ha," she mirthlessly intones. "Yes. Tabby really is a girl. I'm sorry if that freaks me out, but it does. Not that you two Neanderthals would understand, but hair is important to a girl, even one like me that is used to having to be a bit butch to be in a man's world."

"Is this about me and Sammy giving you a haircut that one time?" Dean asks, failing to hold back his laughter.

" _Cut my hair?_!" she snaps, poking at Dean's chest when he bursts into laughter, and then turning to jab Sam in the chest when he joins in their brother's amusement. "The two of you cut my hair _off_!" she yells. "All of it! Do you know how long it took to regrow?"

She turns back to Dean pointing threateningly at him as she reminds him, "And you _tried_ to put itching powder in my hair that one Halloween. Remember? And you told me it would make my hair fall out. I had nightmares about that for _months_ , Dean."

"Yeah, but I never did it. Seriously, you need to get over that stuff, Tabby. That's ancient history now," Dean continues to laugh, waving a piece of ham at her. "I still don't understand what the big deal is."

"Hair does matter to a girl," she reproaches a little sullenly, another small shudder shaking her body at the memory of the nightmares she used to have about brushing her hair and having it all fall out in the brush.

Sam holds up one hand, fighting to keep a straight face as he promises, "Look, we swear to keep any and all itching powder or anything else away from you that might damage your hair."

Finally cracking a smile at his Boy Scout manner, Tabitha turns away, surreptitiously running a hand through her hair again as she tells her brothers, "Well, obviously these two items don't share a country of origin, so what?"

Sam grabs his own notes, adding, "They were, uh, both bought from the same store."

"Awesome, let's go," Dean responds.

* * *

The following day finds Tabitha pacing in front of their motel room, trying to force her mind onto the task at hand. She knows there must be some kind of explanation for all of the things that are happening, strange tooth fairies pulling teeth, kids with ulcers from Pop Rocks and Coke, a man whose face…froze that way.

It all has to add up to something. Some tangible thing causing it all.

Yet, Tabitha finds her mind continuing to wander. Much as it has for the past month since she reunited with her brothers. Every time she knows she should be focused on a case, she instead finds herself thinking back to her trip to the future.

When she closes her eyes to sleep, the Castiel from that future invades her thoughts, warning her. There's no regret in her heart for not following his pleas and returning to her brothers anyway, but she can't stop remembering everything else he'd told her. Everything she'd seen.

Her hand finds its way unconsciously to her stomach, protectively cradling it against something that hasn't even happened. Protecting a child that may _never_ be conceived. But some…emotion has been awakened in her. And she can imagine the…anguish she must have felt. To have conceived a child, lost that child, and then discover that she would never be able to have another.

In her heart, she knows that must be why she said "yes" to Azrael. Despite what she had told Castiel and what he assumed, she knows in her heart, that she said "yes" to the angel in the hopes that the angel would heal her body in return. Perhaps Azrael even offered that to entice her.

That Castiel from the future may have thought she abandoned him, but she knows…knows that no matter what, she was trying to _fix_ herself…fix _them_.

Until that time, when Castiel had told her that she'd been pregnant and then miscarried, she'd never even realized that she had wanted children. Had never given it much thought. In her mind, she'd always dismissed it as an impossibility. First because of the life her family led, and then because of her FBI career, and then because of being thrown back into hunting.

Now, it's all she can think about. And it's such…a perplexing feeling to her to mourn a miscarriage that never actually happened to her. Somehow, there's a feeling in the pit of her stomach that won't go away though.

For a month, she's waited for the strange sense of…mourning to pass. And for a month, she's continued to feel it.

"How long can I keep mourning something that _didn't_ actually even _happen_?" she wonders to herself as she continues to pace. Fingers twitch, longing to light a cigarette, but she continues to push the cravings away.

In New Orleans, Cort had been adamant about her quitting, and despite leaving him on less than cordial terms, she feels compelled to honor his wishes on the matter. Perhaps because she knows she can't honor anything else he wants from her.

Shoving her hand into the pockets of her slacks, she instead searches for the chocolate vice that has and will always replace her nicotine cravings. She'd shoved a few chocolate pieces into her pocket when she stepped outside to clear her mind, and she's thankful for the foresight now. Her fingers fish out the foil wrapped chocolate, but also brush against the other two objects she's been unable to part with.

When she pulls out her closed fist, she turns her palm up to see the scattered chocolate lying atop a creased Polaroid picture and a black gold ring, warmed by the closeness to her skin.

Practicing what self-control she has, she removes one piece of chocolate, placing it in her mouth to slowly suck on, and slips the other two chocolate pieces back into her pocket.

The Polaroid is more creased now than when she'd found it, but that's not the only change. She'd almost expected it and the ring to disappear when she was returned to her own time period, but strangely, she'd still had them both when she was returned. The ring looked exactly the same. The picture was another story.

The focus of the photo remained, her sitting on Castiel's lap, taking the photo of them while he smiles at her with such…devotion. And she's still smiling her slightly-too-big-truly-happy-smile.

But the background is different.

Or at least, blurred. She can't even say for certain what they're sitting on anymore or see the room around them. Even their clothes seem…blurry now. But their faces…the expressions. Unchanged.

Does it mean that this…event…will still transpire, only that the place and circumstances are unsure? Or is she making too much of a _Back to the Future_ leap and the photo will actually just slowly disintegrate because she's removed it from its proper time period?

"I wish I could ask Cas about this, but how do I even _begin_ to tell him about everything I saw?" she asks herself. She hasn't even seen the angel since her return. Only briefly heard his voice as he spoke to Dean, through of all things, a cellphone.

"What do you wish you could ask Cas about?"

Gasping as she twists to face Sam, her hands fumble, dropping her two precious mementos from the future. The ring falls to the sidewalk with an ominous clap resounding through the air, or perhaps that's merely Tabitha's heart beating in dread. She watches almost helplessly as it hits the ground perfectly on its edge, seeming to wobble and roll with a mind of its own straight for her little brother's giant feet.

Cursing her clumsy hands to herself, she grabs wildly at the Polaroid photo still fluttering to the ground, shoving it into the safety of her pocket even as she watches in mortification as Sam stoops to pick up the ring that has rolled unerringly into the sole of his heavy boot.

When he stands up, his face is frozen almost comically into a look of horror or shock.

Biting her lip, she reminds him, "You might want to stop that; your face might freeze that way."

His mouth slams shut with a resounding clack, but the shock on his face remains as he looks up at her.

"This is a ring," he tells her, his unsteady voice speaking the multitude of his utter shock.

"Nice ID skills," she tells him, trying to grab the ring away. "Wanna try something else?"

Easily holding the ring up in the air out of her reach, Sam demands, "I know what it _is_ , what I mean, is _where did you get a ring like this_?"

She cringes at the hissed question.

"I found it," she mumbles, not meeting his face.

"Oh, sure," he snaps in disbelief. "Because people are always just _finding_ expensive rings with exotic stones just lying around the place." Waving the ring under her face again, he demands, " _What_ is this, Tab?"

"You're not an idiot, Sam, so don't expect me to believe you are and can't figure out what that is," she sullenly answers, trying to swipe the ring again as he holds it under her face.

Snatching it back and using his long arms to keep it from her reach, he whispers, "Is this from Cort? Did he ask you to marry him?"

Her head snaps up to stare at her brother in surprise. "What?! No," she quickly denies, crossing her arms over her chest. "Look, it doesn't matter. Just…give it back and pretend you never saw it."

"Not happening, Tab," he argues. "This is an _engagement_ ring. So who the hell else would have given you an engagement ring that you'd be carrying around? I know you just got back from staying with Cort." As if a light bulb has gone off, Sam's entire face seems to brighten with realization. "Did this come from that little future trip the angels sent you and Dean on?"

When she narrows her eyes and refuses to answer, he nearly crows in triumph.

"That's it!" he excitedly exclaims. " _That's_ what your mind has been on for the past month since you got back. That's what keeps distracting you."

She refuses to say anything, waiting for him to draw the inevitable conclusions.

"Wait," he finally says, his voice more subdued with the answer he's struggling to come to. "Why would you have it to bring back to this time? Wouldn't your future self have kept it?"

"She was kinda busy playing vacant-eyed puppet to the Devil. Guess she had no use for the ring," she replies, struggling to keep any anger out of her voice.

Apparently she hasn't succeeded, because Sam deflates and cringes a bit, rolling his shoulders forward as he softly asks, "So why do you have it? Why doesn't the guy? And who is this guy?"

He's finally lowered his hand back to his side, allowing her to snatch the ring back, shoving it away from prying eyes into the safety of her pocket as she lowly answers, "He gave it to me, and then he died. So I couldn't exactly give it back to him before I got yanked back home."

"Jesus," Sam mutters, his eyes dropping apologetically to avoid hers. "I'm sorry, Tabby. I didn't know. Who was he?"

"He died, it doesn't matter."

Looking up, Sam tries to assure her, "Well, maybe if we stop Lucifer, none of this will happen. Maybe he'll be okay."

_Then he'll still be an angel_ , her inner voice reminds her. She looks away at the thought, knowing that it's right. For everything else that's been swirling in the back of her mind, there has also been a part of her consciousness that has continued to whisper to her, telling her that no matter what a secret part of her hopes, it's all useless. All just futile dreams. If their future field trip comes true, he dies. If he doesn't and they succeed in beating the Devil himself…he's still an angel…and she's still human.

"Sam, just…leave it alone, okay," she pleads with her brother. "It's something that can't ever be anyway, so just…leave it alone. People like us weren't meant to have love in our lives. All we do is get people killed."

Sam draws a pained inhale, and Tabitha realizes that she's pricked at a sensitive topic for him as well. Shaking her head ruefully, she looks back up.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't think."

"No, it's alright," he assures her. "I guess you're right. I won't bring it up again. I'm sorry, too."

They stand awkwardly for a moment, but then he gives her an almost shy, vulnerable smile as he tells her, "At least we still have each other."

She knows he meant it to be a statement of reassurance, but she can see the question in his eyes. The same look of hesitation and fear that he'd look at her with when he was a child and wanted her to read him a story or sing to him after he'd had a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep. He would always stare up at her with those same eyes, clutching her hand when she'd finished her story or song, silently begging her to stay with him, so that he wasn't alone.

And she'd always held his hand for a long time after he'd fallen back asleep, making sure that he didn't awaken again and find himself alone to face the monsters of his dreams.

Reaching up to his great height, she wraps her arms around her much taller little brother, pulling him down into her embrace as she silently assures him that she'll still be there for him. No matter what monsters the darkness brings.

And finally, some of the knot in the pit of her stomach unties itself. Somehow knowing that her little brother still needs her, even after so many years, comforts some instinct in her.

When they pull apart, he clears his throat and bumps his shoulder with hers, gruffly telling her, "Well, I guess we should go see what Dean's up to. And I can fill you both in on what I found."

They enter the room to find Dean still chowing down on the cooked ham.

"Dude, seriously—still with the ham?" Sam incredulously laughs at their brother.

"We don't have a fridge," he tells them with a muffled voice.

"I swear, it's like living in a frat house," Tabitha mutters as she passes her brothers. Turning in the doorway to the bathroom, she tells Dean, "Chew, then talk."

"Well," Sam interrupts, spreading a map out on the table, "I found something." He glances up at Tabitha, "Aren't you gonna stay to hear?"

"I'm going to go splash water on my face and fix my hair. Something tells me we might need to head out soon," she tells him. "Just…speak up."

He starts to say something, but gives her a look of understanding when he realizes she wants a few moments alone to pull herself together.

As she closes the bathroom door, she can hear Sam's voice pick up as he explains, "Here, um, Tooth Fairy attack was here, Pop Rocks and Coke was here, then you've got itching powder, face freeze, and joy buzzer—all located within a 2-mile radius."

"So this is centered around something?" Tabitha calls out so her brothers know she's listening, even as she spares one last moment to stare at the photo and ring again before shoving them back into the safety of her pocket and turning her attention to her hair.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "And inside the circle of weird, fantasy becomes reality."

"Looks like," Sam agrees.

"And what's the A-bomb at its center?" Dean continues.

"Four acres of farmland…and a house."

Dean lowers his voice, barely perceptible to Tabitha as he whispers, "Our motel isn't in that circle, by any chance?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Tabitha exits the bathroom to see Dean holding his palm up for Sam to see, just before he jerks it down out of view again when he notices her.

"Is that _hair_ on your palm?" she demands.

"Oh, d-dude—" Sam stutters.

"What, no," Dean denies, trying to hide his hand.

Tabitha suddenly doubles over laughing. "Oh, this _so_ makes up for the nightmares I had about my hair falling out. I warned you for _years_ that doing that would make hair grow on your palm, and it actually _did_!" she exclaims through her tears and laughter.

"That is so messed up," Sam says, his eyes still closed as he cringes.

Rubbing his hand against his thigh, Dean finally cracks a smile at his sister still doubled over and laughing. "Yeah, I got bored," he tells them. "That nurse what hot," he adds, referring to the nurse they'd run into at the hospital when questioning the now toothless man.

Wiping at the tears, Tabitha adds the other threat she'd always warned her brothers with, "You know you can go blind from that, too."

Her brothers both cringe a bit as Dean turns away. "Give me five minutes. We'll go check out that house."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. When he sees Dean headed for the bathroom, he shouts, "Hey, do not use my razor!"

Still laughing gleefully, Tabitha tells them, "You guys can duke that out, I'm gonna be in the car."

* * *

As they climb the steps to a covered porch and reach the door of the farmhouse, Tabitha sees Dean discreetly check Ruby's knife tucked into his belt. Following his lead, she taps the butt of her Glock in the shoulder harness under her suit jacket. Not that she's sure how much either will help since they seem convinced the childlike pranks have to be the trickster she's only heard and read about.

Sam crouches at the door, pulling out his lock picks. The site causes his sister to roll her eyes at his actions. Huffing she reaches over his shoulder to rap her knuckles against the glass of the front door.

"What?" he questions in annoyance, glancing up at her. "Not like there are any cars here."

"Never take that—" She rocks back on her heels a bit as the door opens to reveal a boy of about eight or nine. Lowering her voice, she finishes to her brother, "—for granted."

"Can I help you?" the boy asks them.

"Hi. Uh, what's your name?" Sam asks, trying to cover for himself as he hides the lock picks and stands.

"Who wants to know?" the boys asks in return.

Tabitha grins at the savvy boy, pulling out her FBI ID and nudging for her brothers to do the same.

Holding the badge low for the boy to see, she tells him, "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Julia Wells, and these are special agents Page and Plant." She grins over her shoulder at her brothers when they frown at her self-proclaimed title, knowing they can't argue with her in front of the boy. But she figures she deserves to be the higher ranking fake Fed since she's the only one with real Fed experience.

"Let me see that," the boy tells her, taking her badge.

"Good for you," she compliments. "It's always best to check a badge thoroughly." She can hear Dean cough warningly behind her, but she isn't worried about her own badge appearing forged even to another Federal agent, let alone a young boy. As she's warned them several times with their own IDs, she knows everything to look for in a forgery.

"So what do you want?" the boy asks as he hands her ID back to her.

"Are your parents home?" Dean asks with a tone of exasperation.

"They work," the boy tells them, holding his ground in the doorway.

"Well, you mind if we ask you a few questions, maybe take a look around the house?" Sam asks next.

"I don't know," the boy replies, slightly uneasy.

Tabitha carefully squats down, smoothing her dress skirt over her knees as she meets the boy's eyes, trying to get to his level so there aren't three adults staring down intimidatingly at him.

"You don't have to let us in if you don't feel comfortable," she assures him, ignoring the annoyed huffs of her brothers. "We can wait out in our car until your parents get back if you prefer. Or…we could wait inside with you. I bet it gets awful lonely here by yourself. I could even help you with your homework if you have any. My little brother used to ask me to help him with his all the time."

_Not exactly all true,_ she thinks to herself. _I did occasionally help Sammy with homework, but it wasn't that often that he ever asked me to help him, smart little turd that he was._

The boy seems to waver, teetering on his decision.

"If you want to ask me anything about being an FBI agent, I'll do my best to answer, and then you can tell your class about it," she entices him. "Your teacher might even let you talk about it in show and tell."

She can see the totter tilt in her favor, though he maintains an extremely admirable poker face, shrugging as he steps back and opens the door. "Yeah, I guess," he nonchalantly tells them, leading the way into the house.

Throwing a smirk at her doubting-Thomas brothers, Tabitha follows the boy through the house and into the kitchen/dining room that hasn't seen an update since the farmhouse was originally built in the 50s.

"What's that?" Sam asks as the boy goes to the stove and shuts off the gas burner.

"It's called soup," the boy almost snarkily answers. "You heat it up, and you eat it."

Chuckling, Sam replies, "Right. I-I know. It's just, um…I used to make my own dinner, too, when I was a kid."

"We all did," Tabitha replies under her breath, moving to take one of the seats at table across from the boy.

"Well, I'm not a kid," the boy tells Sam.

"Right. No, I-I know," Sam continues to stutter.

"Have a seat and ignore him," Tabitha advises Jesse. "Of course you're not a kid. Kids can't take care of themselves or look after themselves."

Child psychology hadn't been an area of expertise for Tabitha in college, she'd focused on criminology, some forensic coursework, as well as some basic psychology, but when she'd finally been promoted in the FBI to her Violent Crimes team, she'd had to take a crash course in victim and child psychology. That had been her intended roll on the team. A woman was a requirement on the teams, and the unwritten job description of the woman on each team was to be the liaison between the team and victims and/or children. Cold facts were that it was simply easier for victims—sometimes even male victims—and children to open up and talk to a woman than to a man.

The team Tabitha had joined had gone through several women before she joined that hadn't been able to handle the "violent" part of what their team dealt with. And while Tabitha hadn't had much experience outside her brothers with handling children, she'd learned quickly how to get them to trust and open up.

"Yeah," the boy agrees, pouring the soup from the pan into his bowl. "And I can take care of myself."

"So what's your name?" Tabitha asks as the boy sits across from her.

"Jesse," he nods.

"It's nice to meet you," she greets. "You can call me Julia."

Dean suddenly walks over to the table with a piece of paper from the fridge. "Did you draw this?" he asks, holding out the picture.

"It's the Tooth Fairy," the boy explains.

"That's what you think the Tooth Fairy look like, huh?" Dean asks, glancing at the drawing before showing it to Tabitha and Sam.

Understanding dawns as she sees the crayon drawing of a man in a tutu, a wand in his hand, exactly as the now toothless man had described of his attacker.

"Yeah, my dad told me about him."

"Huh," Dean grunts.

"What, didn't _your_ dad tell you about the Tooth Fairy?"

" _My_ dad?" Dean asks as Tabitha covers her mouth to hide a grin. Imaginary fairies leaving money behind for teeth wasn't exactly their father's idea of a story. More like stories about the shtriga that suck on children's life-forces that she and Dean were told to protect Sammy from.

"My dad told me different stories," Dean finishes with.

With a serious expression, the boy replies, "Well, the Tooth Fairy isn't a story."

Tabitha glances uncomfortably up at her brothers, knowing that somehow, these things have to be connected to the boy and him believing in them, but almost hating to shatter his boyhood beliefs. She and her brothers never got to have those childhood fantasies, and she hates to think about taking that away from this boy.

Dean gives her a hard look seeming to guess her thoughts, and then continues to question the boy, "What do you know about itching powder, Jesse?"

"That stuff will make you scratch your brains out," he replies with absoluteness.

"Pop Rocks and Coke?"

"You mix them, and you'll end up in the hospital. Everyone knows that."

Dean pulls the joy buzzer out of his pocket, holding it up for the boy to see.

"You shouldn't have that," he immediately replies, eyes widening.

"Why not?"

"It can electrocute you."

"Actually, it _can't_ ," Dean argues.

The boy looks suspiciously at Tabitha for confirmation.

She shakes her head, jumping to support where Dean is going, even if she hates the thought of him losing some childhood innocence. "Nope. It can't. It's just a wind-up toy that makes noise to startle people. It can't actually hurt you."

"So it can't shock you?" the boy asks, glancing between Tabitha and Dean.

"Nope. Not at all," Dean agrees. "I swear."

"Oh. Okay," the boy quietly answers.

Dean continues, looking down at the toy in his hand. "I mean, all it does is just shake in your hand. It's kind of lame. See?" Dean quickly moves to press the toy against Sam's chest, and even Tabitha jumps worriedly in her seat, slumping back down in relief when all Sam does is jump and then glare at their brother in annoyance.

"What did you say your name was, again?" Dean asks the boy.

* * *

"You really think the boy doesn't know what he's doing?" Dean asks from his place reclined on one of the beds.

"I don't see how he could," Tabitha replies, glancing up from her laptop at the table. She uncrosses her legs, recrossing them as she turns back to her work. Lowering her voice, she admits, "There wasn't any deception in the kid's eyes. He just seems like a sweet…lonely kid."

"Don't tell me you're gettin' all momma bear on this kid, Tab. He's not yours," Dean warns her, shuffling some paperwork in his lap.

"I know that," she frowns, snatching her hand from her abdomen when she realizes that her hand was absently rubbing it. "But you have to admit you felt for that kid, too. He seems like a good kid. We just have to figure out what's going on, and hopefully fix it without tearing that kid's childhood apart."

Dean sets the papers in his hands down, looking across the way at his sister. "Did you really believe me when we were kids and I told you that itching powder would make your hair fall out?"

"Yeah," she responds. Looking up with a raised brow as she asks, "Why?"

Clearing his throat, he admits, "I did, too. Ahem, you know, believe you about the…hairy palms thing." He breaks into a grin when his sister begins snickering at him. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just sayin', you know, we did believe in _some_ silly childhood crap like that. Our childhoods weren't totally messed up."

Giving her brother a pointed look, she challenges, "Can you remember much of anything else about our childhood that was 'normal,' Dean? Because I can't."

"I guess not," he shrugs. "Still. We had each other. The three of us stuck together. It wasn't all bad."

"I know," she softly agrees. "We did have each other. But I'd still like to see this kid have a more normal childhood than we did."

Dean picks up the paperwork in his lap again, looking down at it even as he gives one last parting statement. "You can't save and fix everyone, Tabby."

Turning away, her mind recalls the sights from their future trip, the people she'd seen killed, and the fates of herself and her brothers.

Under her breath, she answers, "It doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying."

Sam finally returns to the motel, speaking as he closes the door. "So, dug up what I could on Jesse Turner. It's not much. Uh, 'B' student, won last year's Pinewood Derby. But get this. Jesse was adopted. His birth records are sealed."

"So you unsealed them, and…?" Dean asks.

"There's no father listed," Sam explains. "But Jesse's biological mom is named Julia Wright. She lives in Elk Creek, on the other side of the state."

"Great," Tabitha sighs, closing her laptop. "That's like an eight…nine hour trip."

"Let's get on it," Dean sighs.

Sam glances back and forth between his siblings. "You guys find anything yet that could explain how the kid is doing all this?"

Tabitha grabs a few of her books and things that she wants to bring with as she tells him, "Nope. Not me anyway. Nothing seems to fit. I can't find anything that could explain why things that the kid thinks are true, actually _become_ true. It's almost god-like powers, but he's just a kid."

"I got bupkis," Dean agrees, grabbing his suit coat as they head for the door. "I say we find this kid's mom and see if any other puzzle pieces fall into place."

* * *

"Read that passage to me again, Tab. The one you said you had translated in New Orleans," Sam tells his sister, turning around in the front seat to look at her in the dim light of her flashlight in the backseat. "It's a long drive, we might as well work on that, and we haven't had time to talk about it much yet with looking for the Colt and all."

Glancing up from the book in her lap, she shrugs. "Sure, just give me a sec."

She digs through the bag at her feet, looking for the loose paper that has the English translation scrawled on it in Momma Cecile's hand as she tells her brother, "I'm not sure what else we're gonna come up with though. Cort and I spent hours already trying to figure it out."

They hadn't had much time to devote to researching Nehara's passage, having spent a majority of the time looking instead for the Colt. They hadn't even spent much time talking about what she and Dean had seen in their future trip. Sam had pressed for answers, but neither Dean nor Tabitha were willing to spill much. Tabitha hadn't even told her older brother yet that she'd seen herself…or rather the puppet of herself and Azrael that Lucifer was pulling the strings to.

By unspoken agreement, they'd both decided not to speak much about the creepy trip.

And Tabitha knew that Dean had enough worries on his mind with watching over Sam. She figures there's no sense in telling him about the creepy puppet of herself and Azrael when she has absolutely no intentions in Heaven or Hell of ever saying "yes" to the angel for any reason.

"Humor me," Sam replies, gesturing for her to continue. "We've got a long drive yet tonight."

Finding the folded piece of paper, she opens it and reads, "'As the bitter struggle surges evermore, Graceful Beauty shall be the final and everlasting undoing. For He so said that the End Times shall be abolished not by squabbling and hate, but for love for the Serpent and love for the Sword. And so the Roe Deer shall obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds, and silence shall ever reign.'"

"Touching," Dean tritely replies from the driver's seat. "What's it mean?"

"I don't know," she tiredly huffs. She's not even sure why she pulled the paper out. She's stared at that translated passage long enough now, that she knows it by heart. "All I know is that I was told it was _my_ prophecy and warned _not_ to let it happen. And something about the ability to end it all lies in my hands or something, but that you guys were the ones that could stop it all or something." She makes a frustrated motion with her hands, trying to remember what else Momma Cecile had told her. "But then, she also said something about me also having the ability to _help_ you guys, and therefore save us all, too. So I don't get it. Either I can end 'it' all—whatever, 'it' is—or I can help you guys. I just don't get it."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound ominous at all," Dean mutters under his breath.

"Let me see that," Sam says, reaching for the paper.

"Knock yourself out," she answers, gladly handing it over.

He stares at it for a few moments. Then clears his throat and points out, "Well, uh, traditionally, in the bible, Lucifer is often referred to as the Serpent."

"Could Michael be the 'sword' that thing is talking about?" Dean asks, glancing away from the road.

"Probably," Sam agrees. "So this is talking about something that loves them both, right?"

Tabitha lets out a derisive snort. "Yeah, a roe deer from what that passage says. So let's go find us one."

Dean chuckles as well.

"Wait," Sam argues, turning in his seat more to face her. "I think you're on to something there."

Rubbing her forehead, Tabitha sighs, "I wasn't serious, Sammy. I really doubt finding a deer is the answer we're looking for to our Lucifer problem. Doubt Bambi's gonna make him see the error of his ways. He'd probably kill Bambi right along with Bambi's mother."

"No, don't you see?" he argues, his voice taking on that excited tone of his when he realizes something the others don't. "It's like Lucifer and Michael. The passage doesn't say them specifically, but calls them the Sword and Serpent. That's not so big a stretch from the bible, but what if it's the same for this deer?" He holds the paper up for her to see, pointing to it. "See, 'Roe Deer' is capitalized just like 'Serpent' and 'Sword' are."

"Yeah, and the crazy old lady that wrote it was like a hundred and fifty, Sam. It might not be that significant," she points out.

"But I think it is, Tab. You mentioned that an angel had told you in your dreams that you were her vessel. What was her name? Does she have anything to do with deer?"

"Azrael," she softly supplies.

"Wonderful," Dean huffs. Under his breath, he adds, "Sounds too damn much like Azazel."

"Azrael," she stresses. "Angel, not demon."

"Have you found out anything about her?" Sam presses.

Tabitha glances down at the still open book in her lap that she'd been reading. "Yeah," she whispers. "But there's nothing about deer that have anything to do with her."

Hands drumming on the steering wheel, Dean exasperatedly asks, "Well, what's her story then?"

Reluctantly, Tabitha answers, "She's the archangel of death."

The car swerves a little as Dean jerks to sit up straighter. "What?!" he demands. "She's freakin' Death?!"

"No," she quickly corrects as both of her brothers stare at her. "From everything I can tell, she's not…Death. Death is like the head Reaper or something. One of the horsemen. But Azrael has some kind of…affiliation to him and his reapers. Or something. There's a few different stories in Lore about Azrael, and they all differ a bit. Most of them even say Azrael is a guy, but she clearly referred to herself as the middle sister to Michael and Lucifer."

"Go on," Dean impatiently demands.

Picking up the book she'd been reading she points to one of the pictures, "The common thread seems to be that Azrael's dominion is death. She doesn't deal it out or anything, but most of the stories say she's there for it, recording constantly when we're born and when we die, and ensuring that souls are ushered to Heaven or Hell as they deserve."

"She's an angel but she plays go-between for Heaven and Hell?" Sam asks, leaning over the back of his seat to look at her book.

Handing the book to Sam, she explains, "Everything I've read is pretty scant on details about her. But from what I gather, everyone kinda leaves her alone. Pretty much like they do Reapers. I mean, she's an angel, but neither angels nor demons interfere with her. She's an archangel, so she's not exactly powerless herself."

"But I thought you said that lackey of Zach's said they were trying to gank you," Dean points out. "So they're not leaving her _vessel_ alone."

"True," she agrees. "So I guess they leave her alone up to a certain point. At least some of the angels don't want her in her vessel now."

"Wonder why," Dean mutters.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "She keeps saying that she loves them both and she can stop it all without bloodshed, but I don't trust any of them. They never give the whole story."

"You can see reapers, too."

Tabitha jerks slightly at Sam's whispered statement. "Yeah," she softly draws out.

"Makes some sense then if you really are her vessel," Dean agrees. "I mean, if she deals with them."

"I guess it does," she concedes.

"I think you're the deer," Sam suddenly says from his seat.

Tabitha stares at him in shock. "Say _what_? What about me says ' _deer_?'" she demands.

He quickly backtracks, stammering as he tries to explain. "No, uh, just…think about it. What's the translation of your name?"

She stares at him for a moment before telling him what she remembers their father saying. "Dad always told me that mom named me Tabitha because it meant beautiful."

Sam shakes his head. "That's one of the _meanings_. Tabitha _translates_ from ancient Aramaic as 'gazelle,' which symbolized both grace and beauty. Roe deer was at one time an ancient term for gazelles."

Her jaw drops as she runs the passage through her head again. "Dammit," she mutters, shocked that she hadn't seen it before. "It was damn near slapping me in the face."

"What?" Dean demands.

Sam turns to Dean, rereading the passage again, stressing the important parts. "'As the bitter struggle surges evermore, _Graceful Beauty_ shall be the final and everlasting undoing. For He so said that the End Times shall be abolished not by squabbling and hate, but for love for the Serpent and love for the Sword. And so the _Roe Deer_ shall obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds, and silence shall ever reign.'"

"That damn thing is really about me?" Tabitha whispers in disbelief.

Nodding, Sam gently agrees, "Yeah. I think it's about you _and_ Azrael. Especially if she's their sister. You said she loves them both. Both the Sword and the Serpent."

"So maybe this is a good thing," Dean tentatively wonders. "If she can stop it all without bloodshed, how's that bad? It said something about her stopping the End Times or something, right?"

Frowning, she remembers something else Cort had pointed out in New Orleans. "Yeah, but after we got that translation, Cort said he thought the last part was talking about the End of _everything_. Earth, Heaven, Hell…all of it."

Staring at the page and rubbing his chin, Sam finally agrees. "I think he was right. The Kingdom generally refers to the Earthly plane, but the Otherworlds I think means Heaven and Hell."

"I don't get it," Dean returns in confusion. "Can this chick stop the Apocalypse or what?"

Tabitha had been staring down at her hands, but looks up to meet her brothers' gazes. "I think she can, I'm just not sure at what cost."

* * *

"You okay?" Sam asks Tabitha as they approach the address they'd found for Julia Wright. "You've been quiet."

"Yeah," she assures him, straightening her suit jacket as they walk closer. "I've just been thinking, I guess."

Dean pauses to look back at her. "We're not even sure we're right on any of that, Tab. Let's not worry about it until we talk it over with Bobby." He starts forward and then swings back around again. "Or Cas. We could ask him about it, too. He'd probably know."

She shakes her head. "I already asked…well, future him about it, and he refused to say much about her. Other than to stay away from her."

Shrugging in response, Dean readily agrees. "Well, that's what hippie-him said, maybe he'll say more now. Either way, seems like it might be good advice."

"I have _no intention_ of saying 'yes' to her," she snaps.

"Let's focus on this," Sam reminds them, trying to break things up.

She gives a tight nod. "Fine."

The farmhouse they are approaching has seen better days. Even a fresh coat of paint would do wonders for it, Tabitha thinks to herself. But the many "No Trespassers" signs doesn't give it an air of friendliness either.

As Dean rings the doorbell, Tabitha notes the double deadbolts in the door, making her think that the woman is either overly paranoid, or incredibly unfriendly.

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested," the tentative voice of a woman calls out through the bolted door.

"We're not salesmen," Dean assures her.

"We're with the FBI ma'am," Tabitha calls out. "Agents Wells, Page, and Plant."

The three siblings pull their badges out and hold them up to the peephole in the door.

"Put your badge in the slot," the woman tells them. "Your partners', too."

Tabitha glances at her brothers, but shrugs her indifference. Having actually been a Fed, she had advised many women living alone to be cautious about strangers waving badges, but it wasn't often that she actually ran into people that used commonsense caution like that.

Gathering their badges, Dean stoops to shove all three through the mail slot, and then they wait impatiently for the woman to look them over.

In less time than it should have taken for the woman to thoroughly check the badges over, they hear the locks disengage as a blonde woman in her late thirties opens the door, handing their badges back.

"What do you want?"

"Um…we just had a few questions…about your son," Sam quietly tells her.

Tabitha notes the nervous manner in which the woman seems to hold herself together, her arms wrapping tighter around her midsection as she wraps and rewraps her sweater around her body as if it were armor.

"I don't have a son," the woman denies, but even someone not trained at spotting lies would hear the nervous pitch in her voice.

"He was born March 29, 1998, in Omaha," Sam continues. "You put him up for adoption?"

She looks down, and then reluctantly looks up as she questions, "What about him?"

"We were just wondering—um, was it a…was it a normal pregnancy?"

Dean impatiently jumps in to press, "Was there anything strange?"

The woman suddenly jumps away from the door, slamming it shut as she screams, "Stay away!"

The boys react quickly, Dean stepping forward to push the door back open before she can close it completely, shoving their way into the house after the woman.

"Mrs. Wright, wait!" he shouts, all while shoving Tabitha backwards onto the porch as he and Sam pursue on the woman's heels.

"God save me from meathead brothers," she mutters to herself, sprinting through the house in another direction. Instead of following their path after the woman, Tabitha cuts through the old farmhouse in the other direction, around the center placed staircase and through a laundry room.

As she pushes into a kitchen from the other side, she sees Julia grabbing for some unseen weapon on the countertop.

To immobilize the woman, Tabitha wrenches her arms behind her, locking her own arms through the frantic woman's elbows to grip her tightly. A chokehold would have been more secure, but a proper one really needs a height advantage, so Tabitha settles for a looser grip.

"Now just settle down and breathe a minute. We just have a few questions," Tabitha orders the woman, adjusting her hold to slide one arm through both of Julia's elbows to hold her, maneuvering a bit around her so she can secure whatever weapon is on the counter.

She can hear her brothers panting behind her, no doubt slowed by whatever obstacles Julia had managed to overturn in their path.

"Huh," Tabitha huffs as she looks at the counter, not spotting any weapons.

Carefully, she releases one of the still struggling hands of Julia, watching as she grabs for a container of salt.

Snatching it first, Tabitha looks inside. And finds salt.

Now free, Julia backs fearfully away into the corner of the kitchen, both of her exits currently blocked.

"This is what you were grabbing for?"

When Julia nods apprehensively, Tabitha turns to her brothers and casts an arc of grainy salt at them, the salt pelting them in the chest.

"What the hell, Tab?" Dean challenges, giving her an unimpressed look.

"You're not demons," Julia exclaims in a strangely happy surprise.

Looking down, Tabitha sees a little salt left in the canister, and arcs another sheet of salt at her brothers' faces to dispel the remainder from the container.

"Nope," she confirms. "Except when you try to separate him from his beer."

Brushing away the salt, Dean ignores Tabitha and asks Julia, "How do you know about demons?"

Shaking herself a little, Julia tells them, "Maybe we should sit down."

As they finally sit down in Julia's dining room with cups of coffee, Julia haltingly begins her story.

"I was possessed," she launches in. "A demon took control of my body, and I hurt people. I killed people."

Tabitha had sat down next to the woman, across the corner of the table from her, so she kindly reaches out to pat Julia's arm, gently assuring her, "That wasn't you. It was the demon."

"But I was there," Julia argues, casting a shamefaced expression downwards. "I heard a woman beg for mercy. I…felt a young girl's blood drip down my hands."

"That's how you knew about the salt," Dean realizes from across the table.

Still looking down, she nods, staring at the lace pattern of the tablecloth. "Yeah, I picked up tricks. It was in my head for months."

"How many months?" Dean pushes, leaning forward.

"Nine."

"So your son…" Sam trails off.

"Yeah—the whole time," she grimly informs them. The pregnancy, birth—all of it. I was possessed."

She takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair, looking up to meet their eyes around the table, but holding her arms tightly around her midsection as though to give herself courage by embracing her own body.

"The night the baby was born, I was alone. And the pain was—the pain was overwhelming. I-I screamed, and it came out a laugh…because the demon was happy. It used _my_ body to give birth to a child. When it was over, something changed. Maybe the—the demon was tired or if the pain helped me fight it, but…somehow, I took control. And the demon wailed inside me. It pounded against my skull. I thought my head was gonna explode. But…I knew. I knew what I had to do."

As the Winchesters listen with a horrified, but rapt attention, she describes eating a handful of road salt to dispel the demon.

"And when I was alone with the baby…a part of me…part of me wanted to kill it."

" _Him_ ," Tabitha corrects, her tone sharp and angry as she leans back away from the woman. "Not 'it'…he was a boy. A baby. Who didn't ask for any of this. He was _your_ baby."

"But I _didn't_ ," Julia jumps to correct. "God help me," she continues in a strained voice. "I couldn't do that. I…I put it up for adoption instead…and I ran."

" _Him_ ," Tabitha argues again, staring at the woman in disgust and anger. " _Him_. You abandoned him. Your own child. He is a great little boy, too. Smart, independent…savvy…not that he got any of that from _you_."

Dean suddenly lunges to his feet on Tabitha's other side, hauling her up by her arm as he spins her to face him.

"That's enough, Tabitha," he snaps, pushing her away from the room and towards the front door. "You need to step outside and get your shit together. We'll finish up in here ourselves."

For a moment, Tabitha considers arguing, but she can see by the glare in his eye that he's serious, so she spins on her heel, stomping heavily outside.

She spends the next several minutes pacing in the woman's driveway, trying to calm herself down, but every time she thinks about that woman just abandoning that boy…Jesse…she gets angry all over again. Who could abandon their own child when some women would give _anything_ to have a child of their own?

"What the hell was that back there?" Dean demands as he and Sam step away from the dilapidated farmhouse. Her older brother's strides are quick, revealing his own lingering anger. "Since when do you attack and accuse the victim of shit like that?"

"Of what?" she snaps back, her anger still unchecked, and only growing in the presence of his. "Of abandoning her child? 'Cause last I checked, that's _exactly_ what she did! She abandoned her son—who did _nothing_ wrong…other than being born. How does a woman just throw her own child away like it was _nothing_?"

Stalking forward to close the distance between them, Dean grabs her by the arm and shakes his other hand in her face. "I don't know what bee crawled up your bonnet, but you need to chill on this, Tab. That woman back there was _possessed_. And young, too. She freaked out. And we _don't_ blame the victims when they freak out about something like that." He releases her when she wrenches her arm away, but he continues staring down at her while he lectures, "Wasn't it you who has always been all women's lib, and dudes don't get to judge women for their choices after traumatic stuff like that because we don't understand what they've been through? Well…you don't get to now either, Tab. You have no idea what it's like to go through what she did, so you don't get to judge her."

"She talked about _killing_ that boy, Dean," Tabitha sullenly returns, looking away as the logical side of her argues with her anger, knowing that her brother is right. In the past, she's always been very firm in the belief of a woman choosing for herself in such matters because no one else can know what she's going through or what she can handle…only than the woman herself can know. So why does she suddenly feel so strongly about this?

Lowering his voice, Dean more kindly tells her, "I know you liked that kid, Tabby. I did, too. But that doesn't give you the right to jump all over that woman for making the same choice any scared, freaked-out victim would have made."

Stepping closer again, Dean looks down at his sister more curiously. "What's gotten into you on this case? It's usually _you_ that's all over me and Sam to be more respectful of the victims and especially choices made when it comes to women's rights. Why are you all riled up about this? It's not just about that kid…so what's really going on?"

Tabitha pulls away, facing towards the car as she tries to explain even to herself the anger that she feels and knows to be unfair and irrational. But she's not certain she can explain it even to herself, let alone her brothers.

When she looks down, she realizes her right hand has slipped to protectively cover her abdomen again, and for a second, she feels such a strange sensation of grief and loss…for something she never even had.

Jerking her hand away, she fishes into the pocket of her suit jacket for a cigarette, her fingers brushing against the cold surface of gold and stone before she jerks her hand out with the rolled tobacco between her fingers.

Immediately, Dean steps forward to flick the unlit cigarette from her lips, telling her in annoyance, "I thought you were quitting that crap again."

In response, she jerks her jacket down over her shoulder to reveal the nicotine patch on her upper arm. "I am, but I think I'm just cranky from the cravings."

Both of her brothers stare at her with matching expressions of disbelief, not seeming to buy the reason for her moodiness.

Dean heads for the driver's side of the Impala, imperialistically advising her, "Then slap another patch on, because you're not smoking while I'm around."

Tabitha follows her brothers to the car, but spares one last look at Julia Wright's house. Objectively, she knows Dean's exactly right and that she had no right to snap at the poor woman after what she went through. But her emotions are another matter. Irrational, and unreasonable. And as she stares at the house, she feels a strange sense of…envy…or something close to it.

"You've got to get over this," she chastises herself in a whisper. "You weren't even pregnant, that was just some crazy story you were told on that future field trip. It didn't really happen."

But it's hard to reason with the deep-seated emotions that have wormed their way into her heart. However irrational.

* * *

Tabitha trails her brothers into their motel room, still wiping the sleep from her eyes after catching some Z's in the back of the Impala while her brothers had driven in silence. No one had wanted to talk about the possibilities of what Jesse was, or why such a young kid was so powerful. And while Sam had called Castiel's cellphone to ask him for his help, they hadn't reached him or heard back from the angel.

Although, it might have helped if the angel would set up his answering service on his cellphone so they could leave a voicemail.

At Dean's request, Tabitha had tried reaching out to the angel as well, but she'd been too tired to do much more than send out a quick message, and had no way to know for sure if he'd received it.

_That's a lie,_ she chastises herself. _You didn't open the line between the two of you well enough for him to answer because you are too much of a coward to reach out to him._ She shoves the annoying inner voice away, annoyed by how often it seems to be infuriatingly correct. Sometimes, she really hates having to listen to herself. Why couldn't she have been the dumb bimbo blond so many men take her for when they see her hair, her rack, and her face?

Her brothers hesitate as they enter the motel room, and Tabitha peers around their backs to see Castiel standing stoically in the center of the motel room.

The effect of seeing him standing there—the first time she's even laid eyes on him since she witnessed his death in the future—is almost like the proverbial fist to the stomach. Her breath escapes her lungs in a shuddering rush, and tears blur her vision to see him standing there. Whole…and unharmed. Untouched.

His gaze flicks to hers, pinching in concern as he stares at her.

Realizing that his attention on her is causing her brothers to pause and look back as well, Tabitha immediately schools her facial expressions with the years of practice both hunting and the FBI has given her.

"So," she says as she clears her throat and steps forward, dropping her bag onto the small, red and white checkerboard cloth-covered table. "It seems you got our message."

Castiel's eyes remain on Tabitha although she doesn't look up to confirm it. As she feels his stare on her, she calmly ignores it, pulling her suit jacket off and untucking her blouse as she pulls out one of the chairs next to the one already claimed by her little brother.

The angel's voice is deep but expressionless as he tells them, "It's lucky you found the boy."

Nearly wincing at the effect his toneless speech has on her, Tabitha feels tears spring to her eyes again, only now realizing just how differently his future counterpart had sounded. How animated. How…alive he'd sounded. Until she'd witnessed herself kill him.

"Yeah," she grumbles, trying to wipe the imagery of killing Castiel from her mind. "Real lucky."

Dean walks behind his siblings at the table, fiddling with the key to the room as he asks, "Yeah, what do we do with him?"

"Kill him."

Sam had been in the middle of loosening his tie, Dean dropping the key onto the counter, and Tabitha crossing her legs to pull her plain black heel from one foot when they all froze in a shocked tableau at the angel's words.

"Cas," Dean quietly begins.

Tabitha lets the shoe fall from her fingers with a resounding thud, the sound ringing as she twists to stare in disbelief up at the angel's hardened stare.

"You can't possibly be serious about killing a boy, Cas," she denies, certain she has to have been hearing things because her mind had been swirling around such unpleasant matters.

"This child is half demon and half human," he launches by way of explanation, still holding her eyes. "But it's far more powerful than either."

Tabitha frowns as she feels her heart constrict, her mind yanking her back to the memory of herself kneeling at future Castiel's feet, asking him what had happened in that future, and of him telling her that she had been pregnant.

Castiel stalks forward, tearing her mind away from a memory as he ominously continues, "Other cultures call this hybrid Cambion or Katako." He pauses to encompass her brothers in his stare as he finishes with, "You know him as the Antichrist."

Her mind reels as his words, and yet…she continues returning to the previous memory. Castiel telling her in a broken voice that she'd been pregnant. And the horror and wonder that now swirls in her mind. If the child of a human and demon was the Antichrist, what would her child have been?

Castiel lowers himself into the chair directly across from the middle Winchester, his eyes focusing on hers as he watches the micro-expression she can feel flit across her face while she avoids his gaze.

Until the silence is broken by an extended farting noise coming from the angel.

Sam and Tabitha both give a startled jump as they turn surprised looks on the angel, watching as he woodenly sits on the chair, eventually shifting to pull a whoopee cushion from the seat.

"That wasn't me," he flatly explains as he examines the deflated novelty toy.

"Who put that there?" Dean childishly asks as he leans against the counter behind his younger siblings.

Tabitha scowls and turns to launch into her brother for his immaturity, but stops when she meets his eyes.

For the first time in…perhaps even years, she can see them twinkling with laughter, a naughty smile tugging his lips as he fights unsuccessfully to squash it and appear innocent.

As she stares at him, she struggles to remember the last time she'd really seen that boyish look on his face. Even seen him so carefree as to play his usual childhood pranks.

She hadn't seen it since she returned to her brothers to hunt…since Dean returned from Hell.

Not once. Not one prank.

It is such a stark difference from the complete asshole he'd become in the future. This…this is more like the old Dean. The one she hasn't seen since before she and Sam left for college. Perhaps she hasn't even really seen him herself since before she'd started dating Cort and had unintentionally created the rift that had engulfed their previous relationship.

It was the first time she had seen a glimmer of hope that the two of them might really be okay again. That they might be the team they'd once been. That everything might return to normal one day.

Fighting her own grin, she half-heartedly scolds the eldest Winchester, "Behave."

Ignoring Dean's antics, Sam refocuses their attention. "Anyways, I don't get it. Jesse is the Devil's son?"

Tabitha's brief smile deflates at Sam's reminder that things are far from okay.

With an extended sigh, Castiel explains to Sam, "No, of course not. Your bible gets more wrong than it does right. The Antichrist is not Lucifer's child. It's just demon spawn. But it _is_ one of the Devil's greatest weapons in the war against Heaven."

Falling back in her chair, Tabitha fights the shiver that races up her spine as she meets Castiel's cold eyes. She can almost imagine him saying in the same hardened tone, "It's just angel spawn."

Dean moves restlessly behind her, asking the angel, "Well, if Jesse's a demonic howitzer, then what the hell's he doing in Nebraska?"

"The demons lost him. They can't find him. But they're looking."

"And they lost him because…?" Dean questions.

"Because of the child's power. It hides him from both angels _and_ demons. For now."

"So he's got like, a force field around him. Well, that's great. Problem solved," Dean insists.

Castiel leans forward to address Dean. "With Lucifer risen, this child grows strong. Soon, he will do more than just make a few toys come to life—something that will draw the demons to him. The demons _will_ find this child. Lucifer will twist this boy to his purpose. And then, with a word, this _child_ will destroy the host of Heaven."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait," Dean back-pedals. "You're saying that—that Jesse's gonna nuke the angels?"

"We cannot allow that to happen," Castiel informs them.

Lurching to his feet, Sam points to himself and says, "Wait, we're the good guys." He throws a look of disbelief around the room. "We—we don't just kill children."

Castiel stands as well, harshly telling Sam, "A year ago, you would have done whatever it took to win this war."

"Things change," Sam maintains.

Tabitha snaps out of her stupor, lurching unsteadily to her feet beside her younger brother, wobbling when she realizes she's still wearing only one heel. Angrily kicking it across the room, she faces off with the angel across the small table, leaning down with her hands against the tacky tablecloth as she harshly advises the angel, "No way in hell are we hurting that little boy. I don't care what you say; he's still just a _boy_ , Cas. _None_ of this is his fault. He didn't ask to be born this way, and we're not _killing_ him when he's done _nothing_ wrong. You can't just kill a child because of what they are…something he didn't even ask for."

"It has to die," he grits out, his face hardening as he leans down to mirror her stance, leaning on his hands and bringing his face level with hers across the table, only a scant foot of space separating them.

" _It_ is a _child_ ," she growls. "You gonna kill every child born that's not a hundred percent human?"

"If it is an abomination, yes," he hisses. "You have no comprehension of what this child really is."

Tabitha suddenly feels hands wrap around her shoulders to pull her back from the infuriating angel. She throws a glance over one shoulder and huffs to see Dean trying to plant himself between her and the angelic asshole.

"Glad to see you two are back to being bitchy twelve year olds again," he mutters. Clearing his throat, he firmly tells Castiel, "Tab's right though. We're not gonna kill him. All right? But we can't leave Jesse here either, we know that. So…" Dean trails off as he looks at his siblings for help or perhaps inspiration.

"We can take him to Bobby's," Tabitha suggests, knowing full well that the hunter had done as much or more to raise the three of them than their own father had.

"Good," Dean readily agrees. "He'll know what to do."

"You'll kidnap him?" Castiel scoffs in response.

Dean shrugs and looks to his siblings as though he sees no issue with that.

Castiel continues in condescending tones. "What is going on in this town, it's what happens when this thing is happy. You _cannot_ imagine what it will do if it's angry. Besides, how will you hold him? With a thought, he could be halfway around the world."

Tabitha huffs in annoyance and exasperatedly tells him, "Who said anything about 'holding' him? We're _not_ going to hold this boy against his _will_. He's a boy, not a goldfish we're picking up at the store and taking home. We explain to him what's going on. He's a smart kid."

Sam had been brooding and silent since Castiel shut him down, but quickly jumps to Tabitha's argument, supporting her eagerly. "Yeah, we tell the kid the truth." He turns to step closer to the angel, insistently telling him, "You say Jesse's destined to go dark side—fine. But he hasn't yet. So if we lay it all out for him—what he is, the Apocalypse, everything—he might make the right choice."

Silence reigns in the room for several tense seconds as they wait to see if Castiel will be swayed.

But the angel's expression only darkens as he leans toward Sam to growl, " _You_ didn't. And I can't take that chance."

Tabitha can feel the shift of power signaling the angel's imminent departure, and scrambles around Sam as she tries to grab at the angel to stop him, but Castiel has disappeared before she can grab him to try to stop him.

"Dammit," she growls in frustration, ripping off the remainder of her suit without bothering to step into the bathroom. Her brothers quickly follow suit, expedience taking precedence to modesty. "We've got to get to Jesse's house _now_ ," she tells her brothers as she hurries to redress, stuffing her bare feet into heavy boots instead of her heels again. Something tells her she's going to want the ability to run rather than look professionally dressed.

* * *

Tabitha follows closely behind her brothers as they kick down the front door to Jesse's house, rushing inside as they each pray they aren't too late to save the boy from Castiel.

As they frantically round into the living room, they find a frightened Jesse bracing himself in the corner of the room.

"Was there a guy here?" Dean questions the scared boy. "In a trench coat?"

Jesse slowly gestures towards the floor at his feet in seeming disbelief.

The Winchesters follow his hand gesture and eyes to see what appears to be a toy action figure bearing a striking resemblance to the obstinate angel they'd chased to Jesse's house.

When the truth of the strange occurrences surrounding Jesse finally sinks into Tabitha's mind, she stifles a shocked gasp, biting off a strangled moan of the angel's name.

Dean steps tentatively forward, kneeling as he carefully picks the toy angel up, throwing a baffled look at his shocked younger siblings.

Jesse stays in the corner, looking so lost and scared that it jolts Tabitha from where she stands, urging her forward to wrap an arm around the boy.

"Come on, Jesse," she whispers in motherly tones, ushering him towards the couch across from the fireplace.

The boy watches with keen eyes as Dean carefully sets Castiel on top of the mantel over the fireplace.

"Was he your friend?" he astutely asks, fear and apprehension darkening his young face until it looks far older than his scant years.

"Him? No," Dean denies.

The boy frowns, not seeming to believe Dean, but he doesn't challenge it.

" _I_ did that," Jesse whispers to them, causing them to glance at the toy on the mantle again. "But _how_ did I do that?"

The Winchesters exchange looks, silently discussing how best to handle the boy's question.

Before his siblings can speak, Dean turns to the boy with a confident smile, telling Jesse, "You're a superhero."

"I am?" Jesse questions as Tabitha jerks around, silently mouthing to her older brother, "What?"

"Yeah," Dean confirms, stepping closer to stand in front of the boy, surreptitiously kicking his sister in the foot when she opens her mouth to object to his lies.

Dean swaggers and continues to tell the boy, "Yeah. I mean, who else could turn someone into a toy? You're Superman—minus the cape and the go-go boots." Dean crouches low in front of the boy as he adds, "See, my—my partners and I, we work for a secret government agency. It's our job to find kids with special powers."

"Dean—" Tabitha starts to protest from beside the boy on the couch, thinking to herself that his X-men analogy is too far off base, and too close to flat-out lying to the boy for her comfort. The truth is impossibly hard, but she still thinks the kid is too smart to lie to.

Her admonition is cut off by Dean reaching out to jab his knuckles against her kneecap, making her jerk in her seat from the charley horse.

Taking advantage of her silence, Dean goes on. "In fact, we're here to take you to a hidden base in South Dakota, where you'll be trained to fight evil."

"Like the X-men?" Jesse asks, latching onto the lie Tabitha had wanted to avoid.

"Exactly like the X-men," Dean animatedly agrees, moving to stand again. "In fact, the, uh, guy we're taking you to—he's even in a wheelchair. You'll be a hero. You'll save lives. You'll get the girl. Sounds like fun, right?"

Tabitha moves to stand as well, edging closer to her older brother to hiss, "Enough, Dean. This isn't the way to do this."

Before Dean can answer, he is suddenly flung away from her, slamming into the far wall.

Everyone else jerks around to look at the front door when they hear a woman's voice.

"They're lying to you."

Sam moves to stand beside Tabitha as Julia strides into the room.

But as she swipes a hand at him and sends Sam flying into the wall beside Dean, Tabitha realizes that this isn't the same timid woman they'd spoken to before. Her black eyes reveal that the woman is once more possessed.

"Stay right there, dreamboat," she orders Sam as Tabitha pulls Jesse protectively behind her back. "Can't hurt you. Orders."

Julia sneers at Tabitha's movement and assures her, "Not supposed to hurt you either, boss man says so." She swipes her hand at Tabitha, and then gapes open-mouthed when Tabitha isn't flung to the side as well.

"Huh," she mutters. "They said you'd be difficult."

"You're not touching Jesse, so why don't you just skip on out of here," Tabitha snarls.

Julia's mouth turns up in a slow, sly smile. "Just who are you gonna choose, your little friend there, or your own brothers? 'Cause hurting the dopey one is actually encouraged."

She gestures to Dean and then flings him across the room, sending him crashing into the other wall, and then slamming him back into the first wall next to Sam again.

Jesse edges around Tabitha, although he holds tightly to her hand when she pulls him protectively into her side. "Leave him alone," the boy orders Julia.

"Jesse," Julia almost reverently breathes, stepping towards the boy, Sam and Dean forgotten for the moment as they remain held immobile against the wall.

"You're beautiful," she continues, crouching closer to see the boy.

Yanking the boy further into her side, Tabitha lifts her hand to shove the demon away from her and Jesse.

"Leave him alone," she hisses again.

Julia glares at Tabitha, ignoring her when she looks back to Jesse to say, "You have your father's eyes." But thankfully, she doesn't approach the boy again.

"Who are you?" Jesse fearfully asks, and then glances up at Tabitha. "Who is she?"

"I'm your mother," Julia explains, beating Tabitha to the punch.

"No, you're not." With a pleading look, Jesse turns to Tabitha. "She's not, right?"

"I'm so sorry, Jesse," Tabitha whispers, unwilling to lie to the boy, especially now.

Julia makes a humming noise as she happily grins, telling him, "You're half human…half one of us."

Wrapping her arm protectively around Jesse and rubbing her hand up and down his arm, she tells him, "She's a demon, Jesse. A demon…and she's dangerous."

"You can't trust her!" Dean shouts.

Julia glares at the Winchester boys, lifting her hand to silence them as they twist in unspeaking agony.

"Those people you call your parents—" Julia continues, "—they lied to you, too. You're not theirs—not really."

"My mom and dad love me," Jesse insists.

"Yes they do," Tabitha agrees, trying to maneuver Jesse behind her once more as she tells the demon, "That's enough. I'm not letting you have this boy, so why don't you just smoke on out of that woman."

As she speaks, Tabitha covertly inches her hand under her leather coat, slowly bringing her gun out of the shoulder holster.

Julia grins when she sees the gun. "What? Gonna shoot me? Fat lot of good it'll do. Other than killing his mother," she sneers. And Tabitha holds her aim, knowing that it won't actually do any good, and also knowing that it's too dangerous to try exorcising the demon with Jesse standing right behind her.

The demon looks again at where Jesse is peeking around Tabitha, telling him, "Look into your heart, Jesse. You've always known you weren't theirs. You've always known you were different. Everyone has lied to you." Julia looks at the guys and then pointedly at Tabitha as she adds, "They're not FBI agents. And you're not a superhero."

Jesse tugs on Tabitha's hand, staring up at her as he asks, "What am I?"

"You're not a superhero, Jesse. But it's complicated," Tabitha hedges.

Snorting derisively, Julia corrects, "What you _are_ , is powerful. You can have anything you want. You can do _anything_ you want. That's not complicated."

"It's not that simple," Tabitha says, dropping to her knees to get to Jesse's height as she holds his shoulders and stares into his eyes. "You are powerful Jesse, and as corny as it sounds, with great power comes great responsibility. People can and have been seriously hurt by your power. You have to learn how to use it properly so people don't get hurt."

"They treated you like a child," Julia snaps, flinging more power at Dean when he struggles to speak. "Nobody trusted you. Everybody's lied to you. Her included. Doesn't that make you angry?"

Jesse yanks away from Tabitha, his fists clenching as he stares angrily up at her, his eyes shining with betrayal.

Fire suddenly flares in the fireplace, the whole house shaking as the lights all flicker with the waves of power rolling off the boy.

"Jesse…" Tabitha warily begins, only to fall backwards onto her ass with the angry wave the rolls off the boy, her gun falling from her grip.

"Don't touch me. You lied to me, just like everyone else," he tells her.

"See?" Julia delightedly tells Jesse, looking gleeful to see the boy's power work so well on Tabitha. "It _does_ make you angry. But I'm telling you the truth, Jesse. Wouldn't it be better if there were no more lies? Come with me…and you can wash it all clean. Start over. Imagine that—a world without lies."

Scooting back to her knees, Tabitha faces Jesse once more, heedless of the walls cracking around them and facing Jesse despite his angry stare. "It's true," she begins. "We did lie. But so is she. Lies are an unfortunate part of life. But your parents lie to protect you. Because they want you to believe in silly things like the Tooth Fairy instead of the evil things that are really out there. Things like demons. And we lied to you, too, but we just didn't know how to explain the truth to you without frightening you. We just wanted help you. Keep you safe."

Julia's face contorts in anger as she stares at Tabitha, striding forward to physically stop her from speaking. "Shut your mouth, bitch."

Her arm pulls back to swing at Tabitha, and Tabitha lifts her own arm to block the coming blow from the demon.

"Stop it," Jesse orders, halting Julia's punch before it can land. "I want to hear what she has to say."

"You're stronger than I thought," Julia compliments, as she's forced back a few steps from the still kneeling Tabitha.

"We lied to you," Tabitha shakily continues. "We did. We're not the FBI. My name is Tabitha Winchester, and these are my brothers, Sam and Dean. We hunt monsters. We protect innocent people from demons and other things like her. And that's all I wanted to do, Jesse, protect you from things like her. Because all she wants to do is use you. Use your powers. She really is your mother, but that thing inside her is a demon."

"Oh, she's lying to you," Julia spits. "Don't listen to anything she says."

"Sit down and shut up," Jesse orders, a chair slamming into the backs of Julia's legs as she falls silently but struggling into the chair.

"I don't want to use you, Jesse. I promise you that," Tabitha continues, holding Jesse's eyes. "And your parents are still your parents, no matter what. They lie because they love you. But they can't protect you. Not from demons. You have my promise that I'll do everything I can to protect you though. I'll do anything to keep you safe. You and your parents. I'll take you somewhere where the demons'll never find you. I'll keep them and anyone else from ever using you. I'll protect you."

"I'm just a kid," Jesse tearfully mumbles.

"I know," Tabitha agrees, her heart tearing for the kid. "And it's not fair, but I will give anything to help protect you and let you be a kid for as long as possible. But more demons will come for you. It's not safe here. You can either go with her, or trust me and come with me. The choice is yours, Jesse. We can't make you do anything you don't want to."

"Am I really half demon, like her?" Jesse asks.

"Yes," Sam says, stepping away from the wall to stand behind Tabitha. "But you're half human, too. You can do the right thing. You can either help them kill millions of people, or save them. You've got choices, Jesse. But if you make the wrong ones, it'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

Tabitha feels her younger brother stop behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder supportively. She reaches up to grasp his hand as they wait for Jesse.

"Why are you telling me this?!" Jesse shouts, his voice breaking.

"Because I have to believe _someone_ can make the right choice, even if I can't," Sam tells him.

Tabitha squeezes her brother's hand in sympathy, telling Jesse, "You wanted the truth. And the truth is hard. But I will do everything I can to protect you. To keep you safe and help you."

"Promise?" Jesse whispers.

With a lopsided smile, Tabitha draws an X over her heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Jesse holds her gaze for a moment, and then looks again at Julia, the demon struggling in the chair but unable to speak or move from her confinement. "Get out of her."

The Winchesters watch in stupefaction as the demon immediately smokes out of Julia, swirling up and out the chimney.

"How did you do that?" Dean whispers in shock.

"I just did."

"Kid…you're awesome," Dean tells him, still groaning in pain from being flung around the room.

"Is she gonna be all right?" Jesse asks, staring at the slumped over Julia.

"Eventually," Dean assures him.

Tabitha steps away, picking up Castiel from where he'd fallen from the mantle, frowning as she looks at the angel. She knows he can't stay as a toy, but she's afraid of what he might still try to do to the boy. And whatever she feels for the angel, she also feels the desire to protect Jesse, even from Castiel.

She can only hope that she can talk the angel down and keep her word to protect the boy.

"He actually _is_ a friend, Jesse," she tells the boy, still looking down at the toy angel in her palm. "And even though he was going to try to hurt you, I'd still appreciate it if you'd turn him back. I'm kind of partial to him…" She glances up when Dean frowns at her, hastily adding, "Guess I'm too used to hardheaded fools like my brothers."

"He tried to kill me," Jesse replies.

"He's just a dumb male," Tabitha insists. "Kinda like my idiot brothers. But I'll handle him."

When Jesse stares blankly, she glances down at the angel in her palm, muttering, "Never mind." To herself, she thinks that she can try to contact Anna to perhaps fix the angel. She doesn't know any other angel that she can remotely trust to contact.

"It's been a long night," Dean agrees, taking the angel from Tabitha to place back on the mantle. "We'll talk about it later."

"What now?" Jesse questions.

The siblings silently confer before Dean answers, "Now we take you someplace safe, get you trained up. You'd be handy in a fight, kid."

Tabitha scowls at her brother, thinking to herself that she'd wanted to keep the boy out of such things, to keep him safe.

"What if I don't _want_ to fight?"

"Then you don't have to," Tabitha hurriedly tells him, cutting off whatever Sam had been about to say.

"But you could help people," Sam nevertheless insists. "You're more powerful than pretty much anything we've come up against."

"I can't stay here, can I?"

"No," Dean tells him. "The demons know where you are, and more will be coming."

"I won't go without my mom and dad."

Tabitha sighs. "And we can bring them if you want. But that's two more people on the run from the demons. Two more people to try to keep safe. Two people who can't protect themselves. They'd be safer here. The demons don't want them. They want you. But we'll honor whatever you decide."

"I don't know what to do," Jesse whispers, staring up at Tabitha with pleading eyes.

She shakes her head. "You have to make this choice yourself, Jesse. We'll support it either way."

"Can I go see my parents? I, um…I need to…say goodbye."

"Of course, Jesse," Tabitha assures him, watching as the boy turns and slowly makes his way up the stairs to say goodbye to his parents.

"He's making the right choice," Dean softly tells her, moving to stand beside her as they watch the boy disappear up the stairs. "I know you're feeling for the boy, Tab. But this is something that has to be done. We can teach that boy to fight demons. He can help us win this thing."

"No," she hisses, turning to face her older brother. "You're not using him just like demons want to. If he wants to help, he can decide that when he's grown. But we're not using a little boy like a weapon."

"We don't have years, Tab," he snaps. "We need that kid's powers now."

"It'll still be his choice," Sam agrees, "but Dean's right. We need him now. He's powerful, even if he's a kid."

"I'm not doing to him what dad did to us," she tells them, pointing accusingly at them both. "I promised that boy I'd protect him, and I will. Even from you two. I want to see that kid grow up as normal as he can. Not like us."

Sam sighs, but neither of them argues with her for the moment, both stepping away to silently pace as they wait.

"He's been up there a long time," Tabitha worriedly muses after several minutes have passed without Jesse returning.

She starts up the stairs, her brothers following as they go to look for the boy.

"He's gone," Castiel suddenly says from behind them as they enter Jesse's room.

"Where?" Sam asks, surprised to see their friend out of toy form.

"I don't know," the angel tells them. "Jesse put everyone in town back to normal—the ones still alive. Then he vanished."

"Good," Tabitha whispers, collapsing onto Jesse's bed, gently holding the letter the boy left for his parents.

Castiel glowers at her for a moment.

"How do we find him?" Dean questions.

"With the boy's powers, we can't," Castiel answers. "Not unless he _wants_ to be found."

Anger flaring at the memory of Castiel saying the boy had to die, she responds, "I hope he never is. Least of all by _you_."

He continues to glare, and then disappears without another word.

* * *

"Where are we?" Castiel asks, coming to stand beside Tabitha.

She doesn't answer right away, staring ahead as she considers whether or not to even acknowledge his presence.

Finally, she flatly tells him, "It's a playground. A place for kids to play." She gestures towards the children swinging on swing-sets, playing on teeter-totters, and climbing monkey bars, snidely telling him, "You know, miniature humans. Apparently they're more dangerous when they're small and compact."

The angel holds her eyes with a flat stare.

"What are you doing in my dream?" she snaps when he only stares at her without speaking. "How'd you even find me between the charms and my carved up ribs?"

Castiel suddenly stalks forward, the intense look in his eyes startling her until she falls back several steps in surprise, backing away from him with uncertainty at the meaning of his burning gaze.

He reaches her quickly, grabbing her by the upper arm to yank her closer, thereby halting her retreat.

She gasps in surprise, but the inhaled breath is swallowed by the angel as his lips crash against hers, their teeth clacking almost painfully together with the force of his kiss.

The shock of his movement keeps her immobile, no longer moving away from him, and then her anger is soon forgotten as she leans into him, her hand sliding into his trench coat as her baser instincts respond to the heated assault.

Suddenly, Castiel pulls away from her, his hand sliding up to the nape of her neck as he whispers against her mouth, "I know you now. All of you. I can find you when you reach out to me in your dreams. When you overcome the shields that hide you from even me."

She frowns, trying to think of how she'd been reaching out to him in her dream. "But I wasn't," she tells him, shaking her head in confusion. "I was actually enjoying the solitude of my dream."

His eyes narrow as he releases her and takes a step back. "Something in your dream reached out to me. I used the thread to find you."

Glad for the space he's given her to breathe and gather her thoughts, she glances again at the playground, shaking her head when she realizes what allowed him to follow her.

"Never mind," she whispers, pulling her eyes back to the angel. To forestall him questioning her, she attacks. "You here to kill some dream kids, too?"

"You're angry with me," Castiel slowly states.

"Ya think?" she snorts, shaking her head at how blind he can be sometimes. "You wanted to kill that boy. You actually _tried_ to kill him."

"And thanks to you and your brothers, I was unable to, and now it has disappeared. It's out there somewhere, and you should pray to God that the demons don't find him again. Or worse…Lucifer," he tells her, looking away to stare at the playground full of children in her dream.

"Stop calling that boy ' _it_ ,'" she snarls, trying to bring his attention back to her. When he looks back, she continues, "He's still a little boy. Regardless of being half demon."

"It is the Antichrist. Not a child. You can't continue to think of that…abomination as a child. Would you think of the monsters you hunt as…children…just because they're young? They're still monsters," he insists, stepping closer to her again as he tries to force her understanding.

"But Jesse isn't a monster," she insists, stepping away and turning her back on the joyous laughter of the playground.

Castiel comes to stand beside her, once more silent as he grips his hands behind his back looking at the dense forest surrounding them and the playground at their backs.

"What about a child that's half angel?" she suddenly blurts out, unable to censor the thought that has been racing in the back of her mind since they discovered what Jesse is.

The angel looks startled as well, dropping his hands to his side as he turns to gape at her. It's the most human expression she's seen from the present version of him. It makes him almost look like his future counterpart.

"A nephilim," he whispers. "Why do you ask about this?"

"So it can happen," she says, turning to look at Castiel, ignoring the moisture she feels in her eyes. "If you have a name for it, it can happen. A human and angel can…reproduce. The child would be a nephilim."

"It would be an _abomination_ ," he vehemently replies, and for a moment, Tabitha swears she sees fear in his eyes. "It is forbidden. Angels are not meant to sire children."

Her arms wrap protectively around herself at his words. Words both so strikingly similar to what his future self had said, and so starkly different. Future Castiel had said he wished she'd never been pregnant, but she'd seen the heartbreak in his eyes. She'd seen the mourning. Despite his words, he'd wanted that child, too.

Yet to hear him now call what any child of theirs would be…an abomination… It's more than she can handle.

"If I had your child, would you try to kill it, too?" she finds herself asking, her voice barely above a whisper.

He frowns as he stares at her, looking uncomfortable as he continues. "You aren't with child. You've always been…diligent about precautions. And I can sense when you are…fertile. Such an…occurrence…can't be allowed to happen."

Looking away, she discreetly runs the back of her hand across her cheek to swipe at the wetness. "You're right," she returns still in a whisper. "I guess that's why I've always been so 'diligent' about making sure it doesn't happen. I guess I always knew what a mistake it would be."

"You aren't angry with me now?" he tentatively asks, still seeming clueless about how to handle her emotions.

A dark laugh escapes as she shakes her head and turns back towards him. "I guess not. How can I be angry with you for just being you? I keep expecting things I shouldn't when it comes to you. That's my fault, not yours."

Stepping closer to the angel, Tabitha carefully places her hand on his chest, letting it lie there for a moment as she feels his heat under her palm. She wonders if it's real, if anything she's feeling is real within her dream.

It doesn't matter, she realizes. In this moment, it feels real. And the moment has always been where Tabitha has tried to live.

She can't live in a future that hasn't happened yet…and may _never_ happen. She can't live hoping for a future where the angel under her palm becomes something other than what he is.

And she can't live in the past and the choices already made.

Only the choice of this moment matters.

Carefully, she lifts onto her toes, closing the short distance between them to press a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Castiel's lips. When she drops back to her heels, his frown has deepened with his confusion.

"We have to stop doing…" she waves her hand in the air between them, "whatever this is we've been doing. I care about you, Cas. And I hope we can still be friends…but it can't be more than that anymore. We're too…different. And whatever we're doing…I think it's a mistake, Cas."

Scowling harder, Castiel stares down at her hands as she tightly gripes her fingers together, wringing them in an almost nervous manner.

"It doesn't _feel_ like a mistake," he whispers.

"Maybe not," she allows, surprised by the realization that she actually does agree with him. Shaking her head to dispel the thought, she tells him, "Doesn't mean we should continue." She sighs again, trying to find the words she needs. She settles for repeating, "We're too different."

"Because I said the… _child_ , had to be killed?"

"Because you couldn't even see any other option," she corrects, her heart constricting at the thought of him trying to kill their own child.

"I don't understand."

She rests her hand briefly on his chest again, feeling his heat, and then forcing herself to push away from him as she backs up, her hand slipping to fall against her side, cold creeping into her from every limb.

"You need to leave, Cas. You can't keep showing up in my dreams. And we can't keep doing what we've been doing. This has to be the end, I think. We have to stop before it's too late."

Castiel stares at her, and she forces herself to hold his eyes, not allowing herself to cowardly look away.

And as she watches, he disappears with only the soft flutter of wings marking his departure.

When she turns back to the playground, a small girl comes running towards her. Long brown hair streaked with gold glinting in the sunlight, and the light of the world shinning in her smile as the girl eagerly runs to her.

"Mommy!" the girl cheerfully greets, wrapping her little arms around Tabitha when she crouches to embrace the girl.

The child twists in Tabitha's arms, wiggling until she's turned sideways to sit on one of Tabitha's bent thighs as she balances the little girl from her crouched position.

"Who was that, Mommy?" the girl inquires, staring up at Tabitha with guileless eyes colored a hauntingly familiar stormy blue.

"No one, baby," she assures the girl, brushing her long brown and gold locks out of her face. "No one you need to worry about, honey."

Still smiling as brightly as the sun, the little girl wiggles more, worming her way closer into Tabitha's chest as she tells her, "Good, Mommy. Can we go play now?"

Tears sting her eyes as Tabitha gently pushes the girl away, holding her by her upper arms as she kneels in front of the girl.

"No, honey," she whispers in a voice that breaks. "We can't. We can't play together anymore. I can't see you again. It's been wonderful seeing you in my dreams, but you're not real. And you never will be. You can't. You have to go now."

The little girl frowns, tears gathering in those stormy blues and lightening them to a pale snowy sky. "But I don't want to go, Mommy," she sniffles.

"You have to," Tabitha chokes, forcing herself to let go of the girl, pushing to her feet. "You have to. Because you can't ever be real. And I can't have angels using you to find me. Even Castiel." She knows in her heart that it was the girl that called Castiel to her dream. Somehow, the child is a part of him, even if only a figment of a dream.

"I'm sorry," the little girl cries, her tears falling freely now as she reaches pleadingly up towards Tabitha. "I'm sorry, Mommy! What did I do wrong?"

Feeling as if her heart has been stabbed with the cold that settles even further over her, Tabitha forces herself away, backing step by painful step.

"Nothing," she manages in a choked voice, continuing backwards as the girl's cries become more and more muffled by the distance. "You did nothing wrong. But you can't ever be. It's better this way. It's better that you just don't ever exist." She's not sure if she's trying to convince the girl or herself, but she knows it has to be true. She can't see any other option.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispers more to herself, the girl nearly out of sight now as the thick forest swallows Tabitha. To herself, she prays she'll wake from her torment, hating the pain that has twisted from this previously happy dream.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she repeats as she feels the dream finally slip away, fading into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, ten points to anyone that can come up with where the alias Tabitha uses comes from. It was Julia Wells. Here's a hint, think children's movies. :) Who is she?
> 
> Okay, so I fully well admit that the ending of this chapter just came out of nowhere. I generally have things kind of plotted in my head, but sometimes I only have pieces plotted and the rest just has to fall into place as I write. This was one of those times. I really had no idea how this chapter was going to end. Only a vague notion that after the events of the last chapter and this chapter, a wedge would be driven between Castiel and Tabitha, and that they'd part from each other (again, I know!) but I didn't really know how it was going to play out.
> 
> The idea to use the dream gambit again just seemed like a natural choice for her and Castiel to be able to talk without her brothers overhearing. But I swear, that scene just suddenly had a life of its own! I had never envisioned their child being there in the dream, or any of it! It was like I was shocked the entire time my fingers were typing it. I didn't even know what was going to happen until it came rushing out of my fingertips! Kinda terrifying in a way.
> 
> And let me tell you, this is the only time I've really cried while writing a scene, I think mostly because even I had no idea what my fingers were going to type next. Wow! Sorry for the angsty ending! I truly hadn't intended it!
> 
> But let me know what you thought! Should I be punishing my fingers for them taking over that scene, or let them have a shot more often? Maybe I should try an exorcism on them; I swear they were suddenly possessed!
> 
> I'm already excited about the next chapter! That should be a pretty fun one for a change. :) I think we all need it after the angsty past few chapters.
> 
> Be sure to leave your thoughts!


	8. Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Tabitha looks up from her computer when she hears Sam enter their room, hoping he's had some luck with his task.

"Hey," Sam greets them.

Dean looks up from the online article he'd been perusing next to Tabitha at the table to ask, "Find anything?"

Sam scoffs as he explains, "Well, uh, I saw the house."

"And does it match up with what the wife told us?" Tabitha asks, referring to their current crazy case and the story the woman had told them about it not being a _bear_ that killed her husband, but the Incredible Hulk. The TV version.

Tabitha shakes her head and lowers her voice to add, "Or is it just another crazy story from a crazy woman?"

The youngest Winchester shakes his head as if he can't believe what he's about to say. "There is a giant 8-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like…"

Dean sits up excitedly as he finished Sam's thought, "A Hulk-sized hole."

"Maybe," Sam agrees. "What do you guys have?"

Tabitha spins her laptop around on the table to display her screen to her two brothers, showing them the police records of the small town that she'd hacked into. "Seems that our Billy boy had a bit of a temper. His record shows two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and some court-ordered anger-management sessions."

By the cheeky grin on her older brother's face, Tabitha knows exactly what Dean's going to say before he opens his mouth, but still cringes as he does.

"You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry," he chuckles.

Tabitha groans a little as Sam surmises, "So, a hothead getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kind of sounds like just deserts, doesn't it?"

Shrugging, Tabitha stands to stretch, saying, "I guess it does. If that's what really happened. I mean, what would pretend to be the Incredible Hulk to kill someone? Seems kinda farfetched for our normal cases to me."

Dean shrugs. "We have seen some pretty wacky stuff, Tab. We've seen stranger than a TV character come to life just to gank some douche."

"No," Sam slowly argues. "It's all starting to make sense."

"How?" Tabitha wonders, going to the small fridge in the room and getting herself a yogurt cup.

Dean shrugs again, waiting for Sam's explanation.

Sam begins pulling something out of his coat pockets. "Well, I found something else at the crime scene. Candy wrappers," he says, dropping a handful of crumpled up wrappers onto the table in front of Dean. "Lots of 'em."

Tabitha steps closer again with her yogurt in hand, leaning down near her older brother to examine the wrappers, trying to distinguish what about them means something to her younger brother.

"So?" she returns, straightening and returning to her yogurt. A little sullenly, she adds, "What's that prove other than people like candy. I'd be eating candy instead of this, too, if I didn't know I'd have to run another five miles or risk it going straight to my ass and thighs."

Dean snorts, but ignores her comments, mulling aloud, "Just deserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before killing them. We're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?"

Pausing with her spoon midway to her mouth, Tabitha questions, "You get that from a crazy story about the Hulk and some candy wrappers? Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

The youngest Winchester scoffs at her, telling her with a hint of superiority, "You haven't dealt with him before. We have. More than once. It's got to be him. We'd know."

Standing from the table, Dean ambles closer to their younger brother, nonchalantly tell him, "Good. Been wanting to gank that mother since the mystery spot."

"Mystery spot?" Tabitha questions, striving to recall the case. She finally recalls one of Chucks many books. "Oh! Is that the one where that ass kept killing Dean and making you watch?" she questions her younger brother.

"Yeah," Sam dismissively answers, and then turns to Dean, asking him, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean confirms, looking down and not meeting his siblings' eyes.

She knows something is bothering her older brother, but can't help jumping to agree with him. "Hell, I'd like to kill that thing, too," she adds. "The stuff that jerk put you guys through kinda ticked me off."

"No," Sam corrects, "I mean, are you guys sure you want to kill him?"

"Son of a bitch didn't think twice about icing me—a thousand times."

"I'm with Dean on this," Tabitha maintains.

"No. I know," Sam answers. "I—I mean, I'm just saying."

"Spit it out," Tabitha huffs in annoyance, wondering what his point could possibly be. In her mind, this Trickster has his own "just deserts" coming.

"If you don't want to kill him, then what?"

Sam finally tells them, "Talk to him."

"About what?" Tabitha laughs. "How he'd like to be killed?"

Sam shifts in annoyance as he tells them, "Look, think about guys. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."

Tabitha turns away in exasperation, throwing her empty yogurt cup at the trash as she tells him, "Do you hear yourself, Sam? If this thing is so powerful, how the hell do you think you can possibly 'use him'?"

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "What can we possibly use him _for_?"

Sam hurries to explain. "Okay, Trickster's like a—like a Hugh Hefner type, right? Wine, women, song. Maybe he doesn't want the party to end. I mean, maybe he hates this 'angels and demons' stuff as much as we do."

Under her breath, Tabitha replies, "Doubtful."

Continuing, Sam says, "Maybe he'll help us."

Dean stares for a moment before asking, "You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"Ally with the Trickster?" Dean wants to confirm.

"Yeah."

"A bloody, violent monster…and you want to be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy," Dean derisively replies.

"The world is gonna end, Dean. We don't have the luxury of a moral stand," Sam defends. "I'm just saying, it's worth a shot. That's all."

When Dean still seems unconvinced, Sam turns to their sister, hoping to sway her opinion.

"Back me up, Tab," he entreats. "You've got to see that this is something to at least try."

"Sam," she slowly begins, backing up until she's sitting on the edge of the table, her feet dangling freely in the air. "This does sound kinda crazy. I mean, trying to get help from the thing that's killed Dean that many times, and screwed with you both. On more than _one_ occasion?"

Huffing and pacing away, Sam grumbles, "Jesus, it's like my childhood all over again. You _always_ side with Dean."

"You didn't let me finish," she fires back, noticing Dean's triumphant grin slip away. "I was going to say, _but_ you might be right in that we don't have a lot of other options on the table right now. We'd be fools to not even give this a shot just because a few of us would get some extreme satisfaction and pleasure out of playing baseball with that thing's head."

"That's all I'm saying," Sam happily agrees. "If it doesn't work…sure…we could always play baseball with its head. Or basketball, or whatever."

In resignation, Dean asks, "How we gonna find the guy, anyway?"

"Well, he never takes just one victim, right?" Sam points out. "He'll show."

* * *

"Why am I sitting here whittling a huge toothpick?" Tabitha asks, as she balances her knife in one hand and the rough wood in another.

"It's a stake," Sam corrects.

"It's the only way to kill a trickster," adds Dean as he sits on a chair between the beds, likewise cutting the end of a piece of pine down to a sharpened point.

Maneuvering on the bed, Tabitha twists to face her brothers more, shooting an annoyed look at Sam who's doing nothing but staring at their police scanner, waiting for something to happen.

"My point is, why am _I_ sharpening a stake?" she huffs, pausing to twirl the handle of the slim blade between her forefinger and middle finger.

Dean pauses to watch her expertly twirling her knife, raising an eyebrow as he pointedly tells her, "Because you like playing with pointy things."

She lets out a snort as she avoids saying the lewd thoughts that come to her mind, instead shooting back, "Just because I like playing with knives doesn't mean I like whittling things. I'm not a lumber jack."

Feedback sounds on the police scanner, causing them all to pause and Sam to sit forward as they listen to the call.

" _Uh, dispatch? I got a possible one-eight-seven out here at the old paper mill on route six._ "

" _Roger that,_ " the dispatch replies as Sam turns the nob to crank the volume on the scanner. " _What are you looking at, son?_ "

" _Honestly, Walt, I wouldn't even know how to begin to describe what I_ _'_ _m seeing. Just, um, send everybody._ "

" _Alright, stay calm. Stay by your car. Help's on the way,_ " the dispatcher answers.

"That sounds weird," Dean comments.

"Weird enough to be this trickster guy?" Tabitha asks, being the only one not personally familiar with the Trickster.

"I think so," Sam answers as they all rise to follow the call.

When they arrive at the warehouse, there's no sign of any response vehicles. Not even the original patrol car.

"I just want to go on record as saying that I don't like the look and feel of this place," Tabitha comments as she eases out of the backseat of the Impala.

Dean seems just as uneasy as he slams the driver's door, dubiously looking around. "There was a murder here…and there's no police cars—there's nobody."

"Yeah, something's up," Sam says as he follows Dean to the trunk.

Grabbing the already blood-dipped stakes from the trunk, Dean passes them out along with large flashlights.

It seems a little strange to go into a fight with only a wooden stake and a flashlight to Tabitha though, a little like fighting a bear with a dandelion, but she takes her brothers' word that the stakes are the weapons they need.

"This thing is tricky as hell, and can do about anything it wants," Dean tells her quietly, speaking aside to her as they approach the warehouse. "We've faced it before, so maybe kinda hang back and let Sammy and me head in first," he advises.

"'Cause the two of you have such a clean track record when it comes to fighting this thing," she tells him, stepping past him and approaching the door despite his warnings.

Dean glares at her, but doesn't speak again as he pulls the door open and allows her and Sam through first.

As they step through, they all suddenly realize that their hands are empty, and that their clothes have been altered.

Tabitha looks across at her brothers to see that they too are dressed in dark blue hospital scrubs with white doctor's coats hanging open over them. Her jeans and brown leather jacket are gone.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaims, staring around the hallway they are now standing in.

"Is this a hospital?" Tabitha questions next. She tilts her head as she hears something. "Is that _theme_ _music_ playing in the background?"

Shaking her head, she repeats Dean's words, " _What_ the _hell_?"

A female doctor and a nurse approach them in the hallway, coyly greeting the boys with rounds of, "Doctor."

"'Doctor'?" Sam repeats.

Dean turns back to the door they just came through, opening it in hopes of finding an escape, but finding only a couple in scrubs, furiously making out in what appears to be a supply closet, not the warehouse they thought they'd just entered. Seeing no escape, Dean quietly closes the door on the couple who don't seem to even notice their presence.

Seeing no other alternative, they walk together down the hallway, approaching a nurse's station where nurses and a few doctors are gathered around. One of the doctors breaks away, approaching Sam purposefully.

When she reaches him, she greets him with the same, "Doctor," greeting as the others, and then pulls back to slap the side of his face.

Dean and Tabitha watch in shock and amusement as the diminutive little woman stares up at Sam's great height, telling him, "Seriously?"

"What?" Sam answers.

The little woman continues without waiting, saying in profound tones, "Seriously, you're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."

"Uh, what are you talking about?" Sam asks again, still baffled by the woman.

She responds by giving him another slap, telling him, "As if you don't know." With her last dig, she spins on her heel and walks away down the hallway.

"I don't believe this," Dean tells them, awe in his voice.

"Believe what?" Tabitha demands. "What the hell is going on?" Tabitha repeats, pulling her lab coat open to look down at her scrubs. "The coat doesn't look too bad on me, but no one looks good in these ridiculous scrubs. They look like shapeless pajamas."

She glances up to see her brothers staring at her. " _What_?" she defends. "No one looks good in scrubs."

Dean is still looking down the hallway after the slap-happy woman, staring after her with a silly little grin as he tells them, "That was Doctor Piccolo."

"Who?" Sam responds, his face worried as he stares after the woman, as if afraid she might come back for him.

"Doctor Ellen Piccolo," Dean answers again, gesturing towards her and walking closer as he explains, "The sexy-yet-earnest doctor at…" he pauses and then points emphatically at the sign behind the nurse's station as he continues, "…Seattle Mercy Hospital."

"How the hell did we end up in Seattle?" Tabitha starts questioning, "Wait…I've worked cases in Seattle. There's no hospital named Seattle Mercy there."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam begs.

"The doctor getups," Dean excitedly tells them. "The—the—the sexy interns. The 'seriouslys.' It all makes sense."

Looking to Sam, Tabitha asks, "Make any sense to you? 'Cause I swear he's speaking in tongues. I don't know whether to slap him or exorcise him."

Shoving lightly at her, Dean continues to explain in overly excited tones, "We're in _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ , Tab!"

"What, that doctor show you like?" Tabitha asks as she struggles to remember the show. She knows she put it on once for Castiel to watch, but can't remember anything about it herself. Just that it had seemed safer than the porn he'd started watching.

The siblings begin walking away from the nurse's station as Dean asks them, "Dude, what the hell?"

"I don't know," Sam quietly answers as they walk, looking up and down hallways for an escape.

"No, seriously. What the hell?" Dean continues.

" _Seriously_ ," Tabitha sarcastically returns, "we don't know."

"One theory," Dean begs. "Any theory."

"Uh, the Trickster trapped us in TV Land," Sam tells him.

"That's your theory? That's stupid."

"You come up with a better one," Tabitha argues, thinking to herself that it could be worse. Could have been some stupid reality TV show.

"You're the one who said we're on _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ ," Sam points out.

"Yeah, but TV Land isn't TV Land. I mean, there's actors a-and lights and crews. You know?" Dean angrily points out. "This looks real."

"It can't be." Sam steps in front of his siblings and continues. "Dean, how can this possibly be real?"

"I don't know. All right?"

As another woman walks by, Dean tells them, "Oh, but there goes Doctor Wang, the sexy-but-arrogant heart surgeon." They follow her down the hall with their eyes and see a patient sitting on an abandoned hospital bed wearing a robe. Dean continues explaining, "And there's Johnny Drake. Oh, he's not even alive. He's a ghost in the mind of…" Another doctor walks by, sitting on the bed beside the robed patient. "…of her," Dean finishes, nodding at them. "The sexy-but-neurotic doctor over there."

"I thought this was a hospital show. Who the hell would put ghosts in a doctor show?" Tabitha demands. Under her breath, she adds, "I bet no one but Dean even watches this dumb thing. Mix-matched genres."

"It's compelling," Dean defends.

Sam gives their brother a look. "I thought you said you aren't a fan."

Dean doesn't meet their eyes as he insists, "I'm not." Looking up, he emphasizes, "I'm _not_."

"Oh boy," Dean suddenly says as he looks down another hallway, sounding frighteningly like a fangirl.

"What?" Sam questions.

Whispering, Dean tells them, "It's him."

"Who's him?" Tabitha asks, looking down the hallway at the unarguably handsome man approaching, dressed as a doctor as they are.

Turning towards them, Dean conspiratorially tells his siblings, "It's him. It's Doctor Sexy."

Once more, the newcomer greets them all with a round of "Doctor."

Dean answers the same in return, looking down as if he's fighting a blush as he responds.

The dark-haired doctor turns his dark brown eyes on Sam, and when Sam doesn't respond, Dean kicks him in the shin, prompting an unenthusiastic greeting of "Doctor," from their younger brother.

Before Dean can reach across Sam to kick her as well, Tabitha rolls her eyes and gives an annoyed, "Doctor."

The doctor stares at her for a moment, and then reaches out to her, his arms wrapping around her as he twists and dips her, pressing a fervent kiss to her lips as she gasps in surprise.

Unable to do anything else, Tabitha closes her eyes and wraps her arms around the man's shoulders for support, kissing him back as his lips expertly move against hers, walking the fine line of pushing enough passion into the kiss, and yet not kissing her so harshly as to be bruisingly painful. His hands too walk that fine line, holding her respectfully enough to support her weight with her dipped over backwards, but his hands roaming and messaging just enough to let her know what they'd really like to be doing.

Suddenly, the doctor twists again, setting her back on her feet as Tabitha struggles to regain her breath, balance, and composure all at once.

"Doctor," he greets her again, this time, his voice a little more playful and lustful.

"Doctor," she repeats, fanning herself a little and feeling her cheeks flame when she hears how breathy her voice is.

When she catches her brothers' shocked stares at her, she feels heat further rush to her cheeks. "What?" she asks. And then clears her throat to defend herself. "The man can kiss."

Still staring in shock and horror, Dean demands, "Did I just see my little sister get tongued by Doctor Sexy?"

Holding her head high, Tabitha replies, "A real man knows how to kiss and make a woman breathless _without_ shoving his tongue down her throat."

"I think I'm traumatized," Sam mutters to himself, shivering slightly.

Doctor…Sexy…turns back to Dean again, his voice turning hard as he questions him. "You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Beale?"

Dean looks around in confusion. "One reason?" he unsteadily asks.

"Hmm?" Doctor Sexy hums, staring hard at Dean, but then turning a flirting look on Tabitha and winking at her.

"Sure," Dean laughs uneasily, and then looks up to catch the flirty look the man gives his sister, and the way her cheeks flame in response. "How 'bout you making out with my sister!"

The doctor doesn't answer, merely raises an eyebrow as he awaits a better answer from Dean.

The oldest Winchester looks down again, and then suddenly shoves the man backwards against the wall, an arm braced across his clavicle as he tells the man, "You're not Doctor Sexy."

"You're crazy," the man replies.

Dean is unfazed, telling the man, "Really? 'Cause I swore part of what makes Doctor Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots…not tennis shoes."

"Yeah, you're not a fan," Sam laughs in an undertone.

Dean growls over his shoulder, "It's a guilty pleasure."

"Call security," the doctor calls out.

Still holding him in place, Dean tells him, "Yeah, go ahead, pal. See, we know what you are."

Sam and Tabitha glance around the hallway as everything and everyone freezes, and Tabitha shivers as she feels the stirring of something familiar.

The man under Dean's arm suddenly morphs into a lighter-skinned man wearing a grin. "You guys are getting better," he compliments Sam and Dean. Tabitha almost sighs in disappointment, thinking that the Doctor Sexy guise actually had been pretty…sexy. But his current face isn't too hard on the eyes either, almost fitting for the jokester.

Over Dean's shoulder, he winks again at Tabitha, telling her, "And I'm _so_ glad to finally make you're acquaintance. I can vouch that you're already _good_."

Shoving him harder against the wall, Dean tells him, "You better keep your damned eyes…" he disdainfully looks the man up and down, "…and everything else of yours, off my little sister." He bangs the Trickster off the wall a few times to punctuate his words.

"Come on," the man defends. "I was just having a little fun." His grin widens as he adds, "Besides…she kissed me back."

"What?!" Tabitha again defends when her brothers turn to stare at her. "Like I said, the guy can kiss."

"Whatever," Dean growls, focusing again in front of him as he commands, "Now get us the hell out of here."

"Or what?" he challenges back to Dean.

Suddenly, he grabs Dean's arm and twists until he's free, telling Dean, "Don't see your wooden stakes, big guy."

"That was you on the police scanner, right?" Sam asks. "This is a trick."

Flourishing at himself, he theatrically draws out, "Hello-o-o? Trickster? Come on! I heard you two yahoos were in town. And with your lovely sister this time, too. How could I resist messing with you two? Or finally meeting the Winchester that obviously got all the looks in the family?"

As Dean grumbles and starts threateningly forward again, the pieces fell into place for Tabitha. And she knows why the Trickster's powers felt familiar.

"Wait. No," she slowly begins. "You're really an—"

Her voice falls silent in mid-sentence, and though she grabs her throat and tries to force words out, nothing comes.

As Dean turns worried eyes on her frantic motions towards her throat, she looks up to see the small, speculative smile on the face of the angel trying to pass himself off as a trickster.

"What the hell did you do to our sister?" Dean demands, starting towards the…angel again.

An invisible barrier stops him just shy.

"Keep your pants on," the angel advises. He holds his palm out to show a glowing ball of light. "I just took her voice is all. You should thank me. I mean, she's hot, but come on, who needs to hear something pretty like that flapping her mouth and distracting from the view all the time?"

Sam throws his arms around Tabitha when she launches forward to attack the angel, murder in her eyes even if it isn't on her mouth. The angel grins in response, like one would at a Chihuahua thinking it was going to attack a Great Dane, and slips the glowing ball of light into the side pocket of his scrub pants.

"Careful, Tabby," Sam lowly warns her, holding her back from trying to attack the angel.

Spinning to face him, she points back towards the faux-trickster, trying to mime wings on her back. And when she is met with confusion, she tries to draw a halo over her head.

Dean turns away from her miming, unable to guess her clues, and instead asks the angel, "Where the hell are we?"

Grinning, he answers, "Like it? It's all homemade." He turns and walks down the hallway, wrapping his knuckles on the glass windows. "My own sets, my own actors." After gesturing to the frozen people, he spins towards them and finishes with, "Call it my own little idiot box."

"How do we get out? And how do we get our sister's voice back?" Dean questions with some forced restraint.

The angel pauses to consider Dean's request. "You sure you want her voice back?" He tilts his head to the side as he considers her. "She's actually…cuter this way."

Tabitha's glare deepens as she mouths her murderous intentions to the angel, being held back this time by her older brother.

When Dean looks thoughtfully down at her, she turns her murderous glare on him.

"All right!" he relents. Turning to the angel, he tells him, "Of course we want her voice back. And we want out of here. So, how?"

"That, my friend, is the sixty-four dollar question," he answers.

"Whatever," Sam interjects. "We need to talk to you. We need your help."

"Hmm," the angel hums in sarcastic thoughtfulness. Motioning at them, he says, "Let me guess. You muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess?"

Sam answers with a simple plea, "Please. Just five minutes. Hear us out."

"Sure. Tell you what. Survive the next twenty-four hours, we'll talk."

"Survive what?" Dean asks as Tabitha shakes her head in confusion, losing her temper by the minute at not being able to speak.

"The game," the angel happily draws out.

Dean asks, "What game?"

"You're in it."

"How do we play?"

"You're playing it."

"What are the rules?"

The angel waggles his eyebrows, and then winks flirtatiously at Tabitha one last time. She doesn't blush this time, his momentary…effect on her…having worn off the moment he took her voice. But when she feels that familiar stir that signals he's about to depart, she jumps towards him, trying to stop him. Only to have him blink out of sight before she can reach him.

"Oh, son of a bitch," Dean complains as the people around them begin moving again.

Tabitha turns towards Dean, nodding emphatically, and touching her nose, trying to show that she agrees with his statement.

Dean turns towards Sam in response. "Silent may be nice, but we've got to get Tabby's voice back. It's freakin' me out."

Pointing to her ears and shaking her head, Tabitha tries to show them that she's not deaf, but she may as well be for all the better they listen to her pantomimes.

* * *

A half hour later, and Tabitha's mind has changed from wanting to kill the angel, to wanting to kill her idiot brothers.

"Look, I have no idea what you're trying to say!" Dean exclaims in frustration as they walk aimlessly down the endless hallways, looking for an exit.

She stomps her feet in frustration when they still can't seem to understand her physical demonstrations of an angel.

"Yeah, no offense, Tabitha, but you suck at charades," Sam tells her, shaking his head.

Spinning around to stop in front of them, she narrows her eyes and draws a finger across her throat, her head tilting to the side as she rolls her eyes back and sticks out her tongue. Leaning forward, she points a finger meaningfully at each of them.

"Well, I understand _that_ one," Dean tells her, frowning. "But I don't get what the hell else you're saying. Is it about what you started to say when the Trickster took your voice?"

_Not a trickster_ , she thinks to herself, but nods emphatically anyway, touching her nose again as she encourages them with her hands.

"She started to say to him, 'You're really an—' What, Tabby? Ass, what?" Sam asks her.

Waving her hands, she tries to gesture him on, making wings behind her back again, and drawing circles above her head.

"What, crazy?" Dean questions, and then mimics her motion above his head, then dropping his circling finger to the side of his head. "All I get out of that is crazy," he tells her. "You sure he didn't scramble your head?"

She starts towards him with her hands held out towards her older brother's neck when a bearded man steps out and sadly hales Dean down, "Hey, doctor."

"Yes?" Dean tiredly replies as they stop in front of the room the man has come out of.

"My wife needs that face transplant."

"Okay," Dean answers. "You know what, pal? None of this is real, okay? And your wife doesn't need jack squat. Okay?"

They start past the man's room, each annoyed at being stuck in the ridiculous hospital drama. Tabitha gestures back at the man, circling her hand near the side of her head again.

"You got that right," Dean concurs as they walk.

"Hey, doctor," the man calls out again. They continue walking, but are halted at the sound of a gunshot ringing out.

Dean jerks next to them, grabbing at his back as he gasps in pain, falling to his knees as he gasps, "Real! It's real!"

"No, no, no," Sam repeats as he and Tabitha grab for Dean's arms to support him, Tabitha pressing her hand to the wound to stop the blood flow.

Looking frantically around, Sam shouts, "Hey! We need a doctor!"

When no one responds, Tabitha jerks on Sam's white coat, gesturing impatiently at him.

"I'm not a real doctor," he hisses.

Rolling her eyes, she slings Dean's arm over her shoulder, pulling him up and helping him walk down the hallway.

As Sam hurries to help her, she pauses to slap a hand against a directional sign that shows operating rooms to their left.

"You want me to operate?" he incredulously asks.

She shrugs, trying to convey with her facial expressions that they might just have to.

As they stand over Dean laid out on an operating table face down, Sam looks again to Tabitha for help. When a nurse tries to hand him a scalpel, she gestures wordlessly at it.

"You're not much help," he mumbles under his breath.

Getting frantic, Dean tells him, "Sam, do something. Come on."

Sam leans closer to him and whispers, "I don't know how to use any of this crap."

"Figure it out!" After another minute, Dean hisses, "Sam! Come on! I'm waiting."

Finally, Sam says, "Okay, um, I need a…penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey." No one moves, so Sam shouts, "Stat!"

Reaching into the pocket of her scrubs under her blue surgical apron, Tabitha hands a flask of whiskey across the table to her brother, shrugging when he looks at her in surprise. The rest of the nurses scurry to get the other things Sam wanted.

"This is crazy," Sam mutters.

In response, Tabitha can only sigh and nod. While Sam works and she silently watches, Tabitha decides there's still one thing she can try even without her voice. And so, she closes her eyes and silently calls for the angel she can't seem to help trusting. Even after everything they've been through. No matter how they last parted, something tells her that he'll still come if she calls for him.

As Sam finishes sewing up Dean's back, Tabitha finally turns away, satisfied that her older brother will be okay, and deciding to use the lull to look for some paper and a pen or pencil so she can write to her brothers what she's been trying to mime to them.

But when she turns around again, he brothers are suddenly standing on small platforms and an audience is staring at them all, cheering wildly.

An Asian man in a shiny silver suit runs out between her brothers, saying something in Japanese, followed in accented English by, "Let's play 'Nut-Cracker'!"

She rushes out to her brothers, finally seeing that their feet are in plastic boots bolted to the platforms, holding them in place.

As she crouches by Dean to look at the boots, he exclaims, "Jesus, Tabby! What the hell are you wearing?"

Looking down, she sees that the doctor getup is gone, replaced by a red micro miniskirt, a red top not much more than a glorified bra, and thigh-high white go-go boots. Tugging self-consciously at the short skirt, she glances up and shrugs again, her voice still silent when she attempts to speak her outrage to him.

"This is so messed up," he tells her.

Before she can attempt freeing him, an Asian girl wearing the same costume as Tabitha tugs her away, pushing her off to the side and telling her in Japanese that she has to play her part and shoving a demon horn headband on her head. How she can understand the girl's Japanese, she doesn't even want to consider.

Tabitha is forced to watch in horror as the game show host asks her brothers questions in Japanese and then the giant…nut-cracker…slam into her younger brother when he doesn't answer the question in time.

As her brother groans in pain, the host runs over to her and the other girl beside her.

In Japanese, the girl says, "Have we discussed these nutritious Shrimp Chips?" as she hold up a bag of chips.

The host gushes about them as well, and then almost against her will, Tabitha gushes in Japanese, "They are so wonderful, I eat them every day, and look how slim I am!" She holds her arms up in the air, twisting back and forth while she quietly giggles in a stereotypical Japanese way.

As she, the host and other girl finish their ridiculous commercial moment, she suddenly feels the familiar power of Cas swelling.

Still giggling and covering her mouth, she sighs, "Cas," before her voice is silenced again, even from speaking Japanese. Even though they had parted bitterly the last time she'd seen him, she can't help but feel a rush of relief, and a familiar warm sensation in her heart that this angel came when they needed him.

"Is this another trick?" Sam cautiously asks as the boys twist to face the angel.

"It's me," Castiel tells them staring back and forth in confusion. "Uh, what are you doing here? Where's Tabitha?" he frantically asks, looking around the stage.

She waves silently from her place, struggling to make herself walk away from the cheesy host that has now dropped into a dramatic karate stance like he's ready to fight the angel.

Castiel meets her eyes, looking her up and down before asking, "What happened to you? Are you all right?"

She shrugs and nods in response. Trying to indicate that she's mostly all right as she manages two steps towards him.

"Us?" Dean questions the angel. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for you," Castiel snaps. "Tabitha sounded like she was in trouble when she contacted me, and you've all been missing for days."

"So get us the hell out of here, then," Sam pleads.

When Castiel looks curiously at her again, Tabitha nods emphatically, trying to convey that she _very_ much wants out of this place.

Holding his hand out towards her, Castiel says, "Let's go."

But before she can try to force herself forward more, the angel blinks out of sight.

She silently calls after him, but cannot even feel his presence when she tries to call out.

The host angrily steps towards her brother, telling them, "No, no, no, no. Mr. Trickster does not like pretty-boy angels."

And then the game begins again.

As the host turns to Dean, Tabitha is finally able to carefully approach Sam, determined to try telling him again what's really going on.

When she stops beside him, she suddenly has an idea. Waving to get his attention, she slowly moves her hands, touching her shoulders carefully and sweeping her hands forward in the ASL sign for angel, not flapping wings behind her back like she'd been trying to pantomime. Sam tips his head as he watches her, seeming to realize she's trying something different.

Still, no look of comprehension fills his face, so she raises her hands, finger spelling to him the message, _He is an angel!_

"Whoa, slow down," he tells her. "You know sign language?"

At her annoyed look, he shakes his head. "Right. Now isn't the time. Slow way down, I only kinda know how to finger spell."

Nodding eagerly, she begins spelling more slowly, her fingers almost shaking in eager anticipation as she spells, _H-e i-s a-n a—_

With another rush of power, Tabitha suddenly feels herself disappear, and reappear in stark white room.

"Well aren't you just the resourceful little thing," the angel says, walking around her to stand so he can look down at her with a smirk. "Who would have guessed that you'd know sign language?"

In a rush that tests the bit of sign language she knows, Tabitha tells the angel just what she thinks of him and what she'd like to do with him.

"Watch your language!" the angel sarcastically scolds. "I oughta wash your hands off with soap."

When she exhausts her knowledge of sign language, she begins mouthing more threats, causing the angel to roll his eyes and tell her, "You can use your big girl words now. I gave you back your voice already. Although, watching your hands dance in sign language is pretty hot. Who knew I liked it when girls sign dirty to me?"

After an experimental hum, Tabitha opens her mouth and continues her attack. "I'm gonna kick your ass ten ways from Sunday, and then I'm gonna kill you so slowly, you'll think you're dead _long_ before I put your sorry ass out of commission you sorry son of a bitch!"

Still grinning, the angel tells her, "Huh, who knew? I should have let you keep your voice. 'Cause you can talk all _kinds_ of dirty."

Her teeth clack as she slams her mouth shut, growling low in her throat as she fights to keep from childishly stomping her foot.

Through closed teeth, she growls, "Send me back to my brothers and let us go you asshole."

The angel folds his arms over his chest, casually strolling around Tabitha in a circle as he examines her. "Nope. Don't think so."

"Why not?" she snaps, fighting the urge to turn with him and not let him walk behind her. "Because I know you're an angel?"

Coming to a stop in front of her again, he claps his hands enthusiastically. "Bingo!" he cheers, and then in an exaggerated announcer's voice continues, "Got it right in one. Tell the girl what she's won!"

Tabitha darts forward, grasping the angel by his shirtfront as she tells him, "You're not a trickster, so stop the game bullshit and let us go."

Shoving her hands away and dusting needlessly at his shirt, he tells her in false sympathy, "Aw, sorry sugar-plum. But I just can't let you go now that you know my secret."

"Is it that big of a deal that my brothers not know you're really an angel?"

He frowns at her now. "No. It's not so much them as it is _everyone else_ ," he stresses, twirling a finger in the air. "And speaking of not being what I seem…what the hell are _you_?"

She raises her chin but doesn't speak when he points at her.

"Come on," he grins, coaxing her in sweet tones. "You figured me out. And I know there's something going on with you. How'd you even know I was an angel? No way you should have known that. And how'd you get word to little Cassie-boy where you and the two meatheads were? 'Cause I'm good. No other angel should have been able to find this place. Let alone little Cassie."

"Where is Cas?" she asks instead. "You sent him somewhere and now he's not answering. What did you do to him?"

Too late, she realizes she may have given away too much. "'Not answering,'" he repeats thoughtfully. "How interesting. You really did tip him off somehow." He leans back as his head tilts and he examines her more carefully. "You really are quite the intriguing catch."

For several moments, Tabitha doesn't speak, but the silence is too heavy as the angel thoughtfully stares at her, forcing her to ask the first thing that comes to mind. "So. Who the hell are you anyway? Which douchebag angel are you when you're not pretending to be a trickster?"

He stares for another moment, weighing whether or not to answer as he strokes his chin in contemplation.

"Come on," she tells him in annoyance, glancing around the expanse of endless white again. "I have to call you something, and I'm not calling you trickster when you're clearly not."

"Fine," he suddenly relents, dropping his hands and giving a stage bow. " _I_ am Gabriel."

"The archangel?" she asks in surprise. "Huh, guess that makes some sense. You're strong enough to jerk me around like a puppet."

His frown returns as his eyes narrow on her. "But still not strong enough to make you completely compliant. Otherwise, you'd have quit trying to get word to your brothers about what I am. So what's your story?"

Instead of giving too much away, she holds an arm up, jingling her charm bracelet on her wrist. "Stops most things from putting magical whammies on me, but doesn't seem to stop the really powerful archangels."

Gabriel suddenly grabs her arm, his eyes transfixed on the charm bracelet as he carefully slides it on her wrist to examine the charms. He stops spinning the bracelet when he reaches the angel wing pendant Castiel had given her, slowly stroking it as a lazy grin spreads. "That's how he managed to find you," he whispers, more to himself than to her. "I knew I felt something familiar."

"What?" she huffs, still annoyed.

Seeing that she's still miffed about him being able to control her even somewhat, Gabriel grins, leaning towards her to teasingly whisper in her ear, "I could put another kind of whammy on you if you'd prefer."

Leaning away, she tells him, "Just send me back to my brothers, and I'll be good."

He begins strolling casually around again, telling her, "No can do, sister. They've got a lesson to learn, and you can't be there to distract them with insignificant details about me. Besides, you have a lesson to learn, too."

"What?"

He looks back over his shoulder to wink at her. "To play your part."

* * *

"Bachelor number three," Tabitha begins, scooting forward on the tall chair and tugging down on the hem of her slightly too short dress. She glances down at the question card again, and reads the next question on the card. "If you could take me anywhere in the world, where would you take me on a date?"

Bachelor three leans forward to look down the line of bachelors at her, winking before he begins. "Well, for a scrumptious, beautiful lady such as yourself, I'd want to start by taking you somewhere crowded where I could show you off. Maybe the Coliseum in Rome. And then I'd want to show you something nearly as breathtaking as you are, so we'd go to the Sistine Chapel next…"

Tabitha continues to grin as she's supposed to, struggling to play the part of eager bachelorette trying to choose her suitor on a ridiculous dating show. She'd already been through playing an annoyingly stereotypical June Cleaver-esque housewife/mother, a contestant on a reality show akin to Fear Factor—which had proven to be a cakewalk after growing up in a hunting family—and even an annoyingly perky woman in a tampon commercial.

"Gabriel!" she suddenly shouts, causing all three bachelors—creepy exact replicas of Gabriel—to stop and stare at her. "I've had enough of this stupid TV Land game of yours. Get your ass out here and just tell me what part exactly I'm supposed to play!"

The three bachelors morph into one as Gabriel stands and approaches her, stopping in front of her tall stool.

"Why, you're cast in the role of Azrael, my dear. Get used to it," he tells her with a grin.

"You-you know about that?" she stutters.

"Of course," he huffs, his hand waving in the air. "Everybody knows that now. And it makes sense. Dean, the protective older brother. Sam the rebellious little brother. And stuck in the middle, the annoying-know-it-all sister that never takes a side until it's too late." Gabriel spins back towards her, grabbing her shoulders as he insists, "Well, buck up, sister, and learn something that our sister never did. Make a choice now before it's too damn late."

"You want me to say 'yes' to her? Can she really stop it all?" she pleads in a small voice.

Gabriel snorts. "Of course she can. Probably not how you think though." He gestures wildly away from her. "Or your brothers can finish it like they're supposed to. But the truth is, that if your meathead brothers don't play their parts right—hell, even if they do— _you_ have to be ready to say 'yes' to her. One way or another, she's gonna have to clean up the mess they're gonna make."

"Mess?" she repeats angrily, pushing to stand and shoving the angel hard in the chest. "You're talking about them killing half this planet or more if they fight. How can you want us to say 'yes'? What if they destroy the whole world?"

"So what?" he challenges, giving her an annoyed look. "Light that fire! Let it burn! I've had enough. They're gonna fight one way or another. So let's just get this _over_ with already."

"Do you have no reason to want this world to continue? Nothing left to live for yourself? I thought you were a fierce archangel, not a chicken-shit cowardly little moth."

He scoffs, giving her a mocking glare. "Look, sister, I'd love for the party to continue like it has. But I know my brothers. And they're not gonna stop now. Might as well roll over and accept that it's gonna burn."

"How sad your life must be," she whispers, saddened by his utter assuredness in defeat.

Gabriel suddenly appears in her face, his expression hard as he tells her, "And you would know so much about it, huh? What have you got that's so worth living for? Two brothers and a broken-down old hunter are the only ones that even know you're still alive and exist. So what's it matter if that light goes out now? Not much of anyone out there that'll miss you, will they? And that's just the way you like it. Keeping yourself isolated from the world. How sad is _that_?"

"There's still things in my life worth living for," she whispers, her voice turning tender as her thoughts linger on Castiel. Despite everything…despite how utterly infuriated and disappointed he makes her…she still can't shove him from her heart and mind. No matter how much she convinces herself that it's for the best. Barely audible, she adds, "There are still those in my life that make it worthwhile. That I can't keep myself isolated from…no matter how I try."

"You're talking about little Cassie-boy," Gabriel astutely observes.

"What? No! What are you talking about?" she instantly denies.

Grin spreading, Gabriel nearly dances as he gleefully exclaims, "Ooh, that's it! You got a thing for the little nerdy angel." When she sputters a denial, he rolls his eyes and tells her, "Come on. No offense, sister, but little Cassie-boy kinda already let the angel out of the bag on that one. I knew something was up with him when he only had eyes for you when he came to _rescue_ you. But you're carrying a little torch for that angel, too, aren't you?"

"It's complicated," she finally admits, not seeing much use in denials at this point.

Gabriel snorts. "No kidding," he tells her. "You know," he thoughtfully begins, "I never would have thought the little angel would have it in him. Go Cassie."

Sighing, Tabitha asks him again, "So…not that this hasn't been fun…but can you just take me back to my brothers now?"

"Nope. Still can't. But…"

"But what?" she eagerly asks.

He hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "I might be talked into it; on the condition you keep my…real identity a secret. And do one other thing for me."

"What?" she cautiously asks, giving him a dark look as dozens of thoughts run through her head.

"Go on one date with me."

"What?" she exhales, nearly laughing at the one thing she hadn't thought of. "A date?"

"Yeah," he defends, looking slightly offended. "Maybe I wanna see what all the fuss is about. Besides, you do appear to be intriguing. And you don't seem to have any fear. I like that. Plus, come on…you're hot."

Determined not to cower at the thought of a simple date—and ignoring his attempts to make her uncomfortable—she steps in front of Gabriel, head held high as she tells him, "Fine. Let's do this, but you know my brothers will eventually figure out what you are. I mean, all evidence to the contrary, but they're not stupid."

He grins, wrapping an arm behind her back and yanking her closer into his chest. Leaning down, he tells her, "All right. Let's get our date on." He pauses, and then tells her, "And like you said, all evidence to the contrary as far as your brothers are concerned."

When he steps back, she's surprised to see that he's dressed in a form-fitted tuxedo. Looking down, she sees that she's dressed to match in an elegant fuchsia gown. The long material sweeps the floor and ties across one shoulder with sparkling jewels. Even without a mirror, she knows her hair is tied up in an elegant up-do and that her makeup is flawless.

All around them, couples are dancing across the floor in beautiful gowns and sharp black tuxedos.

"Dancing, huh?" she asks a little dubiously. She's been club dancing many times, but never ballroom dancing.

He holds his hand out palm up, accepting her hand and leading her onto the floor.

As he expertly spins her around the floor in a waltz, she notes that he's light on his feet, but easily leads her without pulling or forcing her when her steps falter.

"I don't get you," she tells him as they dance. "Why do you want to go on a date with _me_? From what my brothers say, you're like a Hugh Hefner. You have women throwing themselves at your feet. So why do you want to date _me_?"

"Why not?" he returns, leading them effortlessly through a spin, their movements flowing around the floor as a waltz should. "I can have a lot of women, true, but they're nothing like you. Maybe I just want to see what finally broke through Cassie's straight-man, good-little-solider veneer. See what made him risk it all for a human."

"Risk what?" she asks, biting her lip as she looks down to steady her feet when she stumbles a bit.

"Everything it is to be an angel," he tells her. "He's defying daddy himself with you."

Her face pinches in confusion. "I don't understand. You just admitted to having lots of women. So aren't you defying His wishes, too?"

"Nah, not the way you think. And trust me, dad never much cared if we had…a little fun with some humans. It's the getting involved with _a_ human that's the problem. Daddy never wanted our loyalties to be divided. And I'd say that's just where Cassie-boy has ended up. I'm merely wondering what it is about you that makes all the risks worth it that he'd chance them to have something with you."

"We're not together anymore," she feels the need to point out, unsure why she's even talking to him about it, other than a strange need to talk to the only person she's known that knows about them and doesn't condemn her for her choices.

"Sure you're not," he laughs unconvinced.

"We're not," she insists. "Things were too complicated to keep going further down that road."

The music changes to an upbeat, sensual Latin number.

Dipping her low, Gabriel whispers in her ear, "He's an angel, sister. It can't _be_ anything but complicated."

For the next several minutes, Gabriel leads Tabitha through the more complicated Samba. The dance is much faster than the Waltz had been, and demands all of Tabitha's concentration. And though her mind lingers on their discussion of Castiel, she doesn't have the time to question him further on his statements.

She's breathless when he finally spins her around for the last time, her back to his chest as his hands mold to her hips. Her chest heaves in breathlessness from their pace.

Just as she's about to suggest they take a break, he slides his arm around her body, glancing at his wrist over her shoulder—where she doesn't even see a watch—and exclaims, "Well, would you look at the time. It's time for the second portion of our date."

"What?" she asks, even as she realizes they're no longer on a dance floor, but standing at the bottom of an old-world style theatre-type staircase. The woods are all dark, rich mahoganies, and everything is covered in deep red velvets accented with golds.

"Where are we?" she asks as she looks down to see that her brightly colored number has been replaced by a fitted black gown. Turning in his arms, she looks up at him expectantly.

"The opera, my dear," he explains, leading her up the staircase as the lights dim a little in signal that patrons should find their seats. "More specifically, the Teatro alla Scala in Milan."

He leads her up to a private viewing box in the infamous opera house, motioning her to a seat even as he holds out a flute of champagne that has appeared from nowhere.

Smiling faintly, she thinks that his timing is actually pretty perfect since she'd wanted to take a break from the dancing. And she wonders to herself how he knew that she'd always dreamed of attending just one opera.

"Enjoy the show," he tells her as he takes the seat next to her.

The next several hours find her enthralled by the performance of _Carmen_. The story and the arias move her, and she finds herself as entranced and bewitched as Don Jose as he abandons everything in his life for the gypsy girl, Carmen. Eventually leaving behind his family, his duty, his virtue, his reason, and at last his soul in the hopes of consuming the fiery gypsy.

As several soldiers flirt with the beautiful Carmen in the beginning of the performance, Gabriel leans closer to whisper the English translations into Tabitha's ear. "Love is a rebellious bird, that nobody can tame, and you call him quite in vain, if it suits him not to come."

She smiles at Gabriel as he continues Carmen's aria explaining why she cannot love, and why it is dangerous if she does. Tabitha settles closer into the angel as he continues his translations, grateful since her French is minimal at best. Her knowledge of the Miranda in French not proving useful.

"Love is a gypsy's child, it has never, ever, known a law; love me not, then I love you; if I love you, you'd best beware!"

When Gabriel slides an arm around her shoulders to support her as she leans into him to hear his translations, she doesn't object or pull away, too enraptured by the arias and Carmen's story to care or even notice. Her heart aches in sympathy for Don Jose, the solider that falls in love with the impetuous Carmen, losing everything he has for the woman who only fleeting cares for him, and soon scorns him and loves another man.

In the end, Don Jose is driven mad by seeing Carmen's heart going to the bullfighter, and in a fit of jealousy and rage, stabs her, and then confesses his desperate and murderous crime to the crowd.

As the audience cheers the ending of the opera—Tabitha along with them—she can feel Gabriel watching her.

Turning to him, she asks, "Why did you bring me to _this_ opera? Should I take some meaning from it?"

He laughs in response, halting his clapping to lean closer to her again. "Take meaning if and where you want. Maybe I'm just trying to show the pitfalls and capriciousness of love."

Tabitha stops clapping as well, turning to look more thoughtfully at Gabriel. "So, in your mind, am I the 'capricious' and wily Carmen, and Castiel the naïve and stoic Don Jose, destined to be ruined by me? Is that your lesson here?"

Still laughing, he leans closer, the opera house suddenly empty and silent. "Perhaps I'm trying to point out that _he_ is this story's Carmen, and you're destined only for ruin in loving an angel that can't ever understand the emotion."

"I never said I loved him," she whispers, her throat suddenly feeling tight and dry. "Besides, we ended things. We're just friends again."

A knowing look fills Gabriel's face. "You tell yourself that, sister, maybe someday you'll actually believe it."

"Perhaps you're right," she finally relents, looking away towards the now empty grand stage where _Carmen_ had been performed below them. "Maybe… _love_ …really is capricious. And only a mistake of the naïve." Looking back to Gabriel, she tells him, "I think that's why I had to end things with Castiel. I saw that he would never understand me—what it is to be human—and that I would only ever be opening myself to heartache. How can I care that deeply for someone that would kill a child?"

At Gabriel's surprised look, she explains about Jesse, leaving out her own emotional influences from having been to the future and seeing her own fate there.

"So you punished the guy for trying to do something that had to be done?" he surmises when she finishes.

Stepping back, she snaps in annoyance, "Not you, too. Are you saying that you'd have killed that boy if you'd been there?"

"No offense, but hells yeah," he responds. "Kid's the antichrist. I may not be down with a lot of what Castiel does, but he was making the right choice there. That kid only has being used as a weapon to look forward to if they ever find him." Gabriel sighs and looks more thoughtful as he continues, "He was probably protecting you as much as anything. And you're letting your wacky, mothering instincts kick in and punishing him for doing what he had to."

"What?" she nearly yells.

"Please," he huffs in annoyance. "Look, I've lived around humans for longer than you can comprehend. I get you guys. And you had latched onto that kid with every mothering gene you've got, and _that's_ why you were so pissed at Cassie. But really, is that a good reason to push the guy away? Can you really see yourself having kids? All joking aside, I made you play the white-picket-fence-cookie-cutter-mother before, and you have to admit, you hated every second of it. That's not you, and it never will be, so why punish the guy over something that'll never happen and will never be a real issue?"

Tabitha opens her mouth in denial, but cuts the words off before she can speak, hating that there might be even a grain of truth in his words.

When she's silent, Gabriel continues, "Not that I'm complaining that you two are on the outs. I'm just trying to point out your flaws in blaming the guy. Either way, gives me a chance to swoop in."

She finally laughs a little. "Come on," she tells him her mood softening. "You and I both know that you have no real interest in me, so why are we really here?"

"Maybe I _am_ interested," he tells her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Still giggling, she tells him, "You're more interested in just having fun. Me…not so much. I think I'm just a means for you to get some twisted pleasure in annoying my brothers."

"Well, there is that," he concedes with a heavy sigh. "But you do intrigue me," he confesses. "I can't quite figure you out. And that's saying something from a guy like me." The grin returns as he tells her, "But you are fun. And it's an actual challenge to have a date with a chick I can't completely control. I have to work a bit harder to make sure you're having fun. So…is this the funest date you've ever been on or what?"

"It's definitely the most memorable," she truthfully tells him. "I've never been ballroom dancing and to a real opera like this before. In the famous La Scala no less."

His face falls a little. "But not the funest? So what was? What have I got to outdo?"

She hesitates, but finally confesses, "The funest date I was ever on, was actually when a guy took me to a paintball range and we spent hours chasing and stalking each. We both ended up covered in paint, but it was actually a lot of fun."

"Huh," he hums. "Interesting." He taps his chin thoughtfully, and then snaps his fingers, saying, "I've got it."

At his snap, she blinks involuntarily, and when she opens her eyes, both she and Gabriel are dressed in motorcycle leathers, standing on a huge, empty racetrack. The track is lit by bright lights, but she can still see the stars shinning overhead, too, impossibly bright against the artificial light. Glancing down, she sees her pants are a tight fitting leather that hugs her curves, and her short leather jacket does the same.

"Strikes me that you enjoy some competitiveness, and I considered go-carts, but this seemed a little more appropriate," he tells her, gesturing behind her with an eager anticipation.

She turns to stare open-mouthed at a line of gorgeous, custom-made Ducatis, lined up and waiting just for her.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," she gushes to him.

"Pick one," he encourages, taking the opportunity to lasciviously look her up and down in her tight leathers. But she's too occupied with her own stare to scold his wandering eyes or his choice of skin-tight leathers.

Not needing any more prodding from the angel, she rushes to the line of gleaming bikes, walking up and down the row twice before she picks out a sleek racing bike painted smoky gray with jet black accents.

"Like fast ones, huh?" he laughs, moving to straddle the one next to her, holding out a helmet. "I hope that bodes well for me."

Feeling heady, she playfully asks, "Like fast women, huh?" Sliding on the helmet he offers, she more seriously asks, "Aren't you wearing one?"

Pointing to himself, he intones, "An-gel…remember? I'll be fine. And I can guarantee you will be, too." Then he leans closer to tease, "The faster the better."

With no more challenges or encouragement needed, she slides the visor on her helmet down, gunning the bike as she wouldn't have dared if she'd been borrowing, or even owned the thing herself, punching through the gears as she speeds faster and faster around the track, feeling the wind whip around her.

She's always loved motorcycles. Loved the freedom and mobility of them. Loved that going fast on a motorcycle was the closest she could get to the actual sensation of flying.

* * *

It was hours later when Gabriel and Tabitha finally stopped. Slowing her Ducati, Tabitha finally brings her machine to a stop, dropping the kickstand and swinging one leg over to lean slightly back on the bike as Gabriel approaches her.

"Admit it," he tells her as he stops in front of her, "that was _way_ more fun than getting full of paint."

Fighting a grin, she agrees, "I'll admit, this one might take the cake for funest date. Although the paintball one will still hold a place in my heart for other reasons."

Gabriel leans into her, his chest brushing hers as he leans down to whisper in her ear, "Good. Glad to hear I take the cake."

Not pushing him away, Tabitha smirks and tells him, "Who knew going on a date with an angel could be so fun?"

Leaning back, Gabriel curiously asks, "Little Cassie never take you on any fun dates?"

"Dates?" she repeats, folding her arms over her chest as she rolls her eyes. "I don't think he has any concept of what a date is. Other than something on the calendar."

Letting out an appreciative whistle, Gabriel tells her with slight awe in his voice, "Who knew I'd be jealous of that little angel? He made it as far as he did without so much as taking you on a date. I'm impressed."

Shoving on his chest, she shakes her head and steps around Gabriel.

He catches her arm to stop her, more intently telling her, "Really though, I feel sorry for the guy. He doesn't even have a clue how much fun such a simple thing can be."

"Yeah?" she challenges, smile reluctantly returning.

Nodding, he assures her, "Yeah. I had fun. More than I even expected."

"I did, too," she laughs, finally smiling fully again. "More than I expected as well." She remembers how Gabriel had conjured others for them to race on the track, and even a stadium full of people to shout and cheer for them.

"It really was exhilarating," she confesses.

With his arrogant grin in place, he winks and tells her, "Then why don't we strip you out of those leathers and see what other kinds of fun we can get into."

Pushing lightly on his chest, she mockingly tells him, "In your _dreams_ , Gabriel."

He waggles his brows suggestively at her. "Oh, wouldn't you like to see my dreams. But I'll just tell you. There are a dozen of you. All fighting and fawning over me. Taking turns feeding me grapes and pouring warm massage oil on me, rubbing—"

She slaps a hand over his mouth as she giggles.

"I do _not_ need to hear just what kind of crazy dreams you have or what you might make dream-me do, because seriously, that's the _only_ place I'd ever do stuff like that to you," she laughs.

Before she can pull back, Gabriel slips her hand from his mouth, tugging her into him again and sliding an arm into her open leather jacket to wrap around her waist. His other hand slides up the back of her neck to tangle in her hair, tilting her head back so that's she's looking up into his face, all teasing gone, replaced by something more intense.

This time, she knows exactly who's kissing her, and she's even prepared for it, but his skill still takes her by surprise. Her arms wrap around his waist in return, tightening to hold him close as he kisses her even more deeply than he had in the guise of Dr. Sexy. And like then, she sinks into it and enjoys it.

But it's almost in a detached manner, the way an experienced connoisseur does with a fine glass of wine. It's powerful and heady, but she's able to consciously enjoy its tastes and nuances merely on the physical merits alone. There's nothing in the kiss that touches deeper than her baser instincts. Nothing that reaches her emotions or makes her senses float away.

Only Castiel has ever kissed her that way. She realizes it now. Oh, Cort may have made her heart flutter with fantasies when she was younger, but every other guy since then had just been a means to sate the physical needs. Means to slake her loneliness. Or at least bury it.

But when Castiel kissed her, time had both stopped and sped by in a blur.

Tabitha lived her whole life in the moment, but Castiel made her want more than that. He made her yearn for futures that were out of her reach. Which was why it was so painful when those dreams came crashing down around her ears. And despite the pain, she continued to reach out for more. He still made her hope for things she couldn't have…again and again.

She's never before experienced the hope Castiel gives her with his kiss, his touch…and that hope is a powerful thing. His kiss and that hope he elicits in her makes her feel more like she's flying than hours of racing around the racetrack with Gabriel on the fastest motorcycle ever can.

Gabriel pulls away first, eyes closed and a soft smile playing on his lips as he tells her, "You're better than good."

Eyes open as she smiles fondly at him, she replies, "So are you."

"Then why don't you and I ditch this place?" he asks, opening his eyes and surprising her with his earnesty. "Screw the heart-shaped-candy-coated-love crap. You and I have fun. And I can keep you out of big sis Azrael's hands. There's no need for her interference if your meathead brothers just play their parts. Let's leave the feeling crap behind. Stop flying into the flames even though it hurts just because it's more painful to stop."

Tabitha steps back in surprise, running his words through her head. "Run away with you? That's what you're suggesting?"

"Hells yeah," he insists enthusiastically. "You're fun. Why stick around here just to risk it all?"

She opens her mouth to object, knowing she can't leave, certainly not with one angel that she finds…fun…when she can't get another angel off her mind.

"'Stop flying into the flames even though it hurts…just because it's more painful to stop,'" she repeats in a whisper. "You weren't talking about me, were you?"

"Who else would I have been talking to?" he challenges, eyes looking away a little nervously—perhaps like he's embarrassed, Tabitha thinks.

"Yeah, but you were talking _about_ someone else. And not me and Cas. Who was she? 'Cause I see it now. You've been talking from experience this whole time," she points out gently, moving back to the bike to lean her back against it.

He heaves a suffering sigh, finally whispering, "She's a pagan goddess."

Laughing a little, she tells him, "I bet daddy wouldn't be real happy about that."

He snorts in return. "Probably no happier than if she was human like you." Shaking his head, he moves to stand beside Tabitha again, leaning back in a mirrored stance to hers, his arms over his chest. Ruefully, he comments, "Who knew I'd end up having something in common with little Cassie-boy?"

"So, what are you going to do about her?" she asks.

He waves a dismissive hand. "Nothing _to_ do. She moved on a long time ago. And I'm as much the Trickster as I am an angel. Neither part of me was meant for that kind of sappy crap." Glancing over, he asks, "What about you?"

"I don't know," she grudgingly admits. "It's a bit humbling to realize that I've become that tired old cliché of the woman that gets mad at a guy for something he doesn't understand, and then punishes him for something he can't change, not even fully explain to him why I'm pissed. I mean, I _am_ still pissed that he tried to kill that kid, but I guess you're right, I can't punish him for trying to do something that he thought would make the world safer. And I can't really keep punishing him because I felt attached to that kid. You were spot on about something else, too… Me as a mother would be an epic disaster anyway."

"Maybe not."

"But it still won't happen. Not the way I live," she points out, not wanting to argue.

"That mean you're gonna forgive the little nerd?"

Shaking her head, she thinks about what Gabriel said about flying into the fire despite the pain, and tells him, "I'm still not sure Cas and I should continue whatever we've been doing, but I'm not sure how to stop or if I'm even strong enough to either. Part of me knows that no matter how many times I try to turn away, that all of my resolve goes out the window when I see him again." She sighs self-deprecatingly and shakes her head at her own lack of willpower. "I guess I'll just take it one day at a time."

"You know it can never be more than what you've got now, don't you?" he whispers, his voice almost apologetic.

She winces at the blunt reminder, but tells him, "Yeah. I guess I've always known that. He's an angel after all. And I'm human."

She shakes her head again as she tries to convey her thoughts. "I was never that girl, you know. Hoping for what she couldn't have. I always set my sights on things I knew I could attain, and then kicked ass if need be to get it, but I never set my sights higher than what I could really have.

"But with him…he makes me hope. I've never hoped for anything before. I grew up knowing I could be a hunter, and I was. I knew I could stop hunting and be in the FBI if I wanted, and I did. And I always knew that I'd end up hunting again when things didn't work out in the FBI, and here I am. But I never hoped for impossible things like a white-picket-fence-dream-life. I knew that would never happen. Knew I'd never really have that great, unattainable love that they write songs and tell stories about, you know. Then that ridiculous, stoic and silent angel comes along, and I start hoping. Hoping for the impossible."

Silence fills the space between them before she turns to look at Gabriel again, telling him, "But I know. I know it can't ever be anything more. I know he's not human. It's not going to end with happily ever after or him getting down on one knee to ask me to marry him. I know someday it'll end."

"Still won't leave with me, will you?" he asks, face dropping with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

"We have fun, and we'd probably have a lot more fun," she answers truthfully. "A lot of it. But I can't fight the pull of the flame. No matter how it burns me."

She laughs almost bitterly to herself as she tells him, "No matter how many times I pull away, it tugs me back eventually to dance in the light and heat. I'm afraid I'll always go back to it."

"Not even knowing that it'll disappear one day will sway you to come with me?" he curiously asks.

"It hasn't disappeared yet," she whispers, fear churning in her gut liked a coiled nest of vipers, warning her of the horrendous pain that will await her on that day.

His bitter laugh follows on the heels of hers, and then he tells her in a voice filled with understanding, "And that means that you can still cling to your hopes. No matter how false you know they are."

"Hope gives us wings to fly. Even if we know it's false hope. It's still hope." Clearing her throat, she tries to levitate the mood, "Besides, I can't leave my brothers. Those lugheads need me. And I need them. That's just how it's gotta be."

Gabriel suddenly groans in frustration, pulling a handheld TV from inside his leather jacket. She leans over to see her brothers in a bright, but cheesy looking hotel, staring at Castiel in the doorway of their room, looking slightly worse for wear.

Gabriel hands her the small TV, directing, "Hold that, I've gotta go take care of a little angel infestation. Your flyboy is one persistent pest."

"Go easy on him, will ya?" she quietly asks, not truly worried about Castiel. Somehow, she knows Gabriel won't really hurt his brother.

He nods once, replying, "He'll be just fine. Angels are tough." Then he fades from her sight, reappearing on the screen in her hands. He leaves her alone on the empty racetrack, only the lights brightening the night to keep her company as she watches the scene playing out on the TV screen in her hands.

* * *

Gabriel's facade of TV Land suddenly melts away, Sam and Dean facing Gabriel as he stands trapped in the burning holy oil.

Tabitha twists as the handheld TV in her hand disappears and her cloths return to the worn leather jacket and jeans she'd arrived in the warehouse wearing.

At the sound of slowly sarcastic clapping, Tabitha turns around to see her brothers' back facing Gabriel, still inside the ring of burning fire.

"Well played, boys," he tells them. "Well played." He gestures at the burning ring. "Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"Oh, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass," Dean explains, causing Tabitha to wrinkle her nose as she approaches them from behind.

Sam looks uncomfortable as he glances at Dean but then demands from Gabriel, "Now, for the last time, where the hell is our sister?"

Stepping between the boys, she answers, "I'm right here, guys. I'm fine."

The fierce hug Sam wraps her in surprises her, as well as the way Dean steps closer to gratefully squeeze her shoulder.

"Where the hell were you?" Sam whispers in a worried hush.

Carefully hedging, she tells them a partial truth. "Same as you guys. TV Land. Participated in a real stupid version of Fear Factor." Her grin widens as she tells her brothers, "Totally kicked ass though."

"Where'd I screw up?" Gabriel asks the boys, interrupting her explanation. She gives him a gratitude-filled smile for deflecting her brothers' attention back to himself.

"You didn't," Sam answers the angel harshly. "But nobody get the jump on Cas like you did."

Dean continues, "Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon."

Gabriel shakes his head. "Meaning?"

"Well, call it personal experience," Dean replies. "Nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

"I told you they'd figure it out," Tabitha gently adds, arm still wrapped around Sam's waist as he holds her close with an arm slung over her shoulders. "They're not idiots."

With a dry look, Gabriel reminds her, "I believe you were the one that said 'all evidence to the contrary.'"

At her brothers' reproachful looks, she hunches her shoulders defensively. "What? I tried telling you guys over and over that he was an angel. You were the dimwits that wouldn't get it."

Dean mockingly flaps his arms. " _This_ was supposed to mean _angel_? I thought you were trying to mime a stork. You suck at charades."

Steering them back on topic, Sam asks the trapped angel, "So, which one are you? Grumpy, sneezy, or douchey?"

Gabriel turns to stare at Tabitha, as if waiting for her to spill the beans. Instead, she shrugs in response, silently affirming that she's still keeping her promise to him not to say anything. They'd gone on their date, and he'd returned her to her brothers. She wouldn't give away anything that Gabriel himself wasn't willing to tell her brothers.

"Gabriel, okay?" he answers, his gaze softening briefly as they continue to hold eye contact before turning back to Sam. "They call me Gabriel."

"'Gabriel,'" Sam repeats. "The archangel?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Tabitha falsely cheers in an exaggerated announcer's voice. "Tell the boy what he's won."

Dean and Sam turn perplexed stares on her as Sam takes a surprised step back.

Grimacing, she softly admits in a normal voice, "I think I've spent too much time with him, he was starting to rub off on me."

"Well, we didn't _quite_ have time for it. But an hour or two more and I could have started rubbing—" Gabriel starts to lasciviously rejoin.

Cutting him off, Tabitha laughingly scolds, "You shut your mouth, moth-man. Now who's got the filthy mouth?"

"Guilty," he laughs, acting unconcerned about being trapped in a circle of burning holy oil.

Staring incredulously at his sister, Dean demands, "What the hell were the two of you doing all this time?"

"Nothing," she insists. "Nothing more than PG-13 rated anyway," she adds in an undertone.

"My thoughts though, now they were more X-rated," Gabriel starts.

"Zip it," Tabitha scolds, folding her arms over her chest at the angel's antics.

Dean starts to question his sister again, but can't seem to force the words out. Voice still tinged with disbelief, he turns to Gabriel and tells him, "Okay, Gabriel. Ignoring the issue of whatever the hell you been doing with our sister… How does an archangel become a trickster?"

"My own private witness protection." At Dean's baffled look, he adds, "I skipped out on Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world…till you two screwed it all up."

"And what did daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?"

"Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."

Sam questions, "Then what happened? Why'd you ditch?"

"Well, do you blame him?" Dean asks. "I mean, his brothers are heavy-weight douche-nozzles."

Gabriel snaps at Dean, "Shut your cake hole. You don't know anything about my family. I loved my father, my brothers—loved them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it, okay?! So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

Taking a step forward, Sam demands, "Then help us stop it."

"It can't be stopped," Gabriel drolly supplies.

Angrily, Dean asks, "You want to see the end of the world?"

"I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other, thanks to you two!" Turning towards Tabitha again, he tells her, "You should be able to understand that. You're going to have to do the same! Let it just be over already! Heaven, Hell—I don't care who wins! Let Azrael sweep in and put an end to the whole shebang! I just want it to be over!"

"It doesn't have to be that way," Tabitha insists. "There's always another way, Gabriel. You can't tell me you're ready for everything to be over. Even if the flame is painful, you can't tell me you're ready for it to go out."

He winces at her illusion to their previous discussions, but then laughs bitterly. "You're a sweet kid, Tabby," he tells her, using her name—or at least nickname—for the first time that she can recall. "But you're kidding yourself. This is my family we're talking about. There's no other way. You don't know them. What you guys call the Apocalypse I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this—because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other, and the siblings caught in between. You think you three would be able to relate."

"What are you talking about?" Sam questions.

Gabriel clicks his tongue and whistles, his face filled with frustration as he explains, "You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you three are the vessels? Think about it. Michael—the big brother, loyal to an absent father. Lucifer—the little brother, rebellious of daddy's plan. And Azrael—the sister stuck between her brothers, too blinded by her love for them to see either one's faults or to choose a side until it's too late." Shaking his head, he continues, "You three were born to this. It's your destiny! It was always you!" Raising both hands, he loudly proclaims, "As it is in Heaven…so it must be on Earth. One brother has to kill the other. Or their sister must kill them both."

"What the hell are you saying?" Dean demands.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you?" Gabriel asks. Not pausing for an answer to the rhetorical question, he continues, "Because from the moment dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you." In a whisper, he adds, "Always."

Wiping a tear from her eye, Tabitha answers in a thick voice, "Just one problem with that, Gabriel. We're human. We have free choice. And I for one, am not going to do any of that. I'm not going to kill my brothers. And I won't stand by while they kill each other. But I'll stand beside them and help them fight this war. No matter what."

"If you won't say 'yes,'" he returns, "then you'll have to watch them duke it out eventually. _They_ _will_ say 'yes' in the end."

"No," Dean answers. "That's not gonna happen."

Apologetically, Gabriel tells them, "I'm sorry…but it is."

After a loaded silence, Gabriel continues, "Guys, I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow. But this is real. And it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's got to be."

Tabitha turns away at hearing her words turned back on her.

Gabriel's voice turns lighter as he questions her brothers. "So, boys…now what? Stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"

"Well first of all," Dean proclaims, "you're gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him."

"Oh, am I?" Gabriel challenges.

"Come on," Tabitha entreats softly. "We played your games. Send Cas back. Please."

He hesitates briefly, holding Tabitha's eyes. Then, he slowly lifts one hand, snapping his fingers.

In an instant, Castiel suddenly appears next to Tabitha between her and Sam. The angel is panting, and bleeding from several superficial wounds as Tabitha wraps an arm behind his back to steady him.

Castiel stares questioningly down into her eyes, worriedly holding her stare. She almost sighs in relief when she hears his real voice flutter across her mind.

_Are you all right?_ he asks her.

Suppressing a smile, she silently assures him, _I'm fine, Cas. Just your brother playing games. Are_ you _okay?_

_I'm…fine_ , he halting tells her in her mind.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean apprehensively asks the angel.

Voice sounding more certain now, Castiel assures Dean, "I'm fine." But he pulls away from Tabitha, suddenly avoiding her eyes and her touch as he looks instead to Gabriel.

Tabitha looks up as well, noticing the look of fascination briefly filling the angel's eyes before he pulls his gaze away from her and focuses on his brother.

"Hello, Gabriel," Castiel stiffly tells the trapped angel.

"Hey, bro," Gabriel returns, sounding more than friendly enough for a brother who jerked his sibling around as he did to Castiel. Mockingly, he continues to ask, "How's the search for daddy going? Let me guess. Awful."

Castiel stiffens, but gives no other response to Gabriel's mocking faces at him.

"Okay, we're out of here," Dean interjects, turning away. "Come on, Sam, Tab."

"Uh, okay," Gabriel calls out. "Hey—guys. So—so, what?" he continues as they all slowly walk towards the exit of the warehouse. "Huh? You're just gonna—you're gonna leave me here forever?"

"Tempting," Dean softly tells his siblings, eyes lingering questioningly on his sister.

She shakes her head, softly telling him, "We can't, Dean."

He nods once, turning towards the trapped angel. "No. We're not. 'Cause we don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record…this isn't about some prizefight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped! This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!"

Having said his piece, Dean turns away and breaks the glass to the fire alarm, pulling the lever to activate the overhead sprinklers.

As the alarms blare, they look up to see water spray downward on the warehouse.

Dean parts with, "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Tabitha hesitates to follow her brothers and Castiel out of the warehouse. Instead, she turns to look back at Gabriel, standing under the heavy spray of the sprinklers, his clothing getting soaked as the flames slowly extinguish. But it's the utterly lost look on his face that stops her.

Heedless of the cold spray, she walks back to him, pausing in front of him as the last flame dies away.

Gently, she tells him, "Dean's right, you know. This is about you taking a stand. You've got to some time. What about that pagan goddess of yours? What's gonna happen to her if your brothers have things their way?"

"Kali," he whispers. "Her name is Kali."

"You may have been the Trickster for a long time, but maybe it's time to stop tricking yourself and admit that you care for her. And that you don't really want to see anything happen to her."

"Fly headlong into the flame?" he asks, the corner of his lip twitching up.

"Why not?" she laughs. "If the world's destined to go up in flames anyway, why not fly into the flames of your own choosing?"

"You gonna take your own advice?"

Shrugging, she answers, "Who knows? I think I'm going to take it one day at a time from now on."

Stepping forward, she grabs Gabriel's sodden jacket, leaning in to softly kiss his lips. "Goodbye, Gabriel," she whispers when she leans back. "I hope you find your Kali."

A step away, she's stopped by Gabriel's hand on hers, turning her back towards him.

In a heartfelt tone, he tells her, "You know, I think you're both Carmen, destined to ruin each other with your fiery pull. But I also think you're both a little bit of Don Jose, too. Both powerless to fight the pull you seem to have on each other and destined for despair in the end. I just hope you don't suffer his fate in the end."

"What? Killing each other?" she nervously asks.

"You might be each other's undoing one way or another," he points out.

She shakes her head, flinging cold drops of water from her face with the movement. "There's a lot of things that might be _everyone's_ undoing at the moment," she points out. "Not the least of which are your two feuding brothers."

When Gabriel drops her hand, she starts away again, pausing in the doorway of the warehouse to glance back one last time.

"For what it's worth," he calls out. "I do hope for you. I hope you get some measure of the happiness you want."

"I hope you do, too," she answers.

Playfully, he tells her, "We could still run away together. Leave it all behind."

Laughing, she replies, "You like the chase more than anything. Go chase your Kali."

As she leaves the warehouse, she runs into a worried looking Castiel waiting at the warehouse doorway. She looks around, but her brothers have disappeared around the corner where they parked the car when they arrived.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he whispers, carefully looking down and not meeting her gaze.

Ignoring her wet clothes, she steps forward, hugging the stiff and surprised angel.

"Thank you for coming when I called," she whispers. Rubbing her face against his chest, she tells him, "And I'm sorry for getting mad at you before and not telling you why."

"Then…you're not still angry with me?" he asks tentatively, his arms loosely wrapping around her shoulders.

Looking up, she tries to explain, "It wasn't fair of me to get upset over something that will never be an issue. I mean, the world might end soon at any rate, and even if it doesn't, me and kids is never gonna be in the cards anyway, so why spoil whatever time you and I may have?"

Castiel stares at her, his face scrunched up in his usual appearance of confusion. "I don't understand humans," he slowly tells her.

Laughing, she replies, "It's worse than that. You don't understand _women_."

His face draws up in confusion even more. "I don't understand this statement. Aren't all women humans?"

Giggling, she replies, "Nope. Women are from Venus."

He shakes his head again, insisting, "There is nothing living on the planet of Venus. It's impossible that women—"

Tabitha cuts his words off with a gentle kiss, pulling regretfully away when she hears Dean's voice calling her name.

"I gotta go," she tells him, jerking her thumb towards the direction of her brothers as she explains, "They're my ride. Bye, Cas." She turns away, but pauses at the corner of the warehouse, softly adding against her better judgment, "I hope I see you soon, Cas."

Not waiting for an answer, she turns to follow the voices of her brothers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys this one wouldn't be so bad. Hopefully it was even a bit fun. I had fun writing it anyway!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for their kind wishes! They're much appreciated.
> 
> Also, if you've been a silent reader thus far, please give a shout-out. Let me know if you guys are liking things, or what you're not liking. Just let me know what you think, either way.


	9. The Silence Remains

"I know it's stupid that I come back here in my dreams, but I can't help it. Sometimes I miss it here."

Tabitha turns to lean her back against the railing. She takes the opportunity to overlook the main bullpen that had been on the floor below her office in what seems like another life. And perhaps it was another life she thinks.

Castiel carefully eases forward, his steps almost hesitant until he's standing beside Tabitha, looking down on the bullpen of agents below.

Turning sideways, she eases her weight onto her elbow again as she ponders the angel observing the scene below.

"You miss him."

Tabitha follows Castiel's line of sight, finding his gaze targeted onto her former partner smiling and talking animatedly with a pretty woman. The man who had been a multitudes of formers to her. Friend. Colleague. Partner. Flirt… Lover.

A heavy sadness suddenly swells in her chest, washing over her until even her skin feels warm and taut, her heart painfully squeezed by that desolate feeling as even her breath becomes a shudder. The encompassing sorrow is so swift…so…unexpected…that it takes her a moment to process as she stares unspeaking at Castiel, struggling to regain her composure.

When he's met by silence, Castiel glances up from staring at Casey below, darting a curious look at the woman beside him. Those stormy eyes flit across her emotion-filled brown gaze before darting away, drifting downward again to settle sadly on the previous target of his gaze.

"You still love him," Castiel quietly surmises in a defeated voice.

"You're such an idiot for something so old," she chokes out, voice caught still in her tumultuous emotions but edged with laughter.

Shaking her head ruefully, she reminds him, "We've traveled this road before. Casey was a friend, but I never loved him. Not in the way you mean." To herself, she wonders how she can possibly explain looking at Casey and feeling such sorrow not for him…but the angel beside her.

Once more, she glances down at her former…partner, watching as he sits on the edge of an attractive female analyst's desk. A scene has played out many times in their…history. But she feels no more jealousy now for his blatant flirting than she did when they'd been sleeping together.

His flirting…and her ambivalence towards it had been the normal course of their…relationship. It was how their dalliance had been defined. And even what made it work.

Physically, they'd had a lot of sparks. And personally, they had an easy and unrestrained friendship. But even though they had a professional, personal, and a sexual relationship, the lines of the three never blurred. Didn't intersect. Never crossed.

And though she mourned his death, and regretted her indirect part in causing it, she didn't lament all the positions he'd once filled in her life being marked off as "former." It merely felt like a normal progression to fondly remember in her increasingly abnormal life, she thinks as her gaze falls on him again.

"Then why do you stare so sadly at him?" Castiel wonders, his voice and face mirroring his confusion.

_Because I'm not sure how I'll ever survive_ you _slipping from any of the positions you fill in my life and becoming a former…_ anything _,_ she thinks. Never has she truly mourned any of the multitude of formers in her life—not even truly mourned Cort for all the love in her heart he still claims as her first—but she shudders at the thought of Castiel ever joining that number. Even when she's tried to push him away, her discussion with Gabriel only made her realize how impossible it truly is for her to lose him. But how can she possibly tell Castiel what's in her mind? How can he ever understand such a complicated human emotion when she still struggles with it herself.

Instead of giving voice to the thoughts that race across her mind in a matter of moments, she tells him, "I guess I'm just missing an old life long gone now. As difficult as it could be trying to still help my brothers and other hunters while trying to live in the normal world, there was a lot about it that was simpler. I knew exactly which humans were the bad guys. Even hunting seemed simpler before. Now we're racing against angels to stop the apocalypse. All those times I sat in church, I never expected a day to come when we were fighting _angels_. How did that happen, Cas?"

He shakes his head, leaning his forearms down onto the railing as he laments, "I find myself wondering the same. How did I come to be fighting my brothers and sisters? Those I've fought in the trenches with for millennia."

Tabitha reaches out to lay a gentle hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry," she consoles. "I can't even imagine fighting _against_ my brothers from opposite sides, but Cas…" she slouches next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder as she continues, "you _are_ on the right side here."

He doesn't speak, but she doesn't take offense to it, nor does she take offense to the way he stands so stiffly as she leans against him. She's known him long enough and well enough now that she's gotten accustomed to the way he so often become stiff and rigid when she first touches him. And as she'd known, he eventually relaxes under her touch, his arm between them turning until he loosely grasps her palm against his.

"What did Gabriel say to you?"

She jumps a little, surprised by his sudden question. She'd told Castiel that she hoped to see him again, but several weeks had passed, causing her to forget the encounter with his brother. Or at least she only thinks of the encounter in passing. Their recent trip to Chuck's little convention—although duped into it by Becky—had carved out a small chunk of their schedule and kept her mind from dwelling too long on their introduction to Gabriel.

"Gabriel?" she repeats, buying herself time to form an answer as she turns to face him. His grip loosens in response, seeming to brace himself physically and emotionally for her to pull away from him.

Tightening her grip in reassurance, she explains, "I think he mostly just wanted to have fun." Realizing that doesn't explain much, she tells him, "He took me to a performance of _Carmen_ and then we raced motorcycles." Shrugging, she finishes with, "We just had fun. Why?"

"Your…demeanor changed drastically after you had spent time with him. I wondered why," he almost sheepishly admits.

"He made me realize a few things," she vaguely answers, leaning sideways against him once more to lay her head on his shoulder.

"Then you forgive me for trying to hurt that…child?"

She snorts in return. "You really _don't_ understand women, do you, Cas?" she chuckles. She helpfully informs him, "When a woman tries to move past an argument like that, don't keep bringing it up or trying to justify what you did. All you're liable to accomplish is pissing her off all over again."

Taking a deep breath, she takes a step back to look up at the angel, still holding his hand between them as she reminds herself that he's not just a guy…he's not even a man. He's an angel. And a generally clueless one at that.

Striving for patience, she tells him, "Cas, I'm never going to condone or agree with what you tried to do. But I _do_ understand your reasons for acting as you did. You thought you were protecting the world and keeping Lucifer from getting his hands on Jesse. I get that. But there's always going to be a part of me that's never going to fully believe that that somehow makes it the right choice."

When he still stares at her with his head tilted to the side, she shakes her head and glances away. "Never mind," she mumbles. "It's something that won't ever be an issue again. Not with how little progress we've been making. Lucifer will win this thing and wipe us all out before something like that happens again. Or the angels will get their Armageddon on."

Her eyes stay fixed on the bullpen below, watching former colleagues and friends still working in the dreamscape below, oblivious to the human and angel above them.

Despite all of her best efforts to remain positive about the situation they're all in, she finds herself becoming disheartened once more. Even though she's convinced herself that her momentary yearnings for a child—and her inexplicable mourning of a miscarriage that didn't even happen—the phantom pangs of those emotions swell within her from time to time. And though she reminds herself that none of her ridiculous yearnings can ever happen with Lucifer still on the loose, she can only feel a sense of melancholy and despondence when she thinks that their battle against the Devil is a losing affair as well.

Still griping Castiel tightly with her right hand, she braces her left on the railing, looking below them as she morosely bemoans, "I just feel like all we're doing lately is losing ground. We've been searching for the Colt for a few months now, and we _still_ can't find it. I just wish we could gain _some kind_ of ground." Sighing, she tells him, "At least we know who last had the Colt now. Sam's stalker fangirl said that some demon named Crowley had it." Becky is never going to be Tabitha's favorite person in the world, but she still gets a kick out of Sam's uncomfortableness whenever the girl pops up. Or as was the case just the week before, when she tricks them into showing up at a ridiculous convention for Chuck's books detailing their lives.

Maybe Sam's uneasiness with Becky _wasn't_ so humorous. Not after dealing with nerdy boys following her around and drooling if she even happened to look their way. She wishes Chuck hadn't seen fit to write her into the story even as little as he had.

"Killing Lucifer is a fool's errand. It's insane," Castiel tells her, not commenting on the information they'd learned from Becky.

Her head whips to stare at the angel, frowning as she reminds him, "Not like we have any better ideas going. We can't leave him out there killing humans and generally wiping out the planet."

"You can't face him, Tabitha," he tells her, tugging on her hand and pulling her closer. Almost uncharacteristically, he raises his other hand, cupping her cheek as he ardently commands, "Stay away from him. Lucifer would only kill you…or worse."

"Why?" she asks, raising her own hand to fold over his, savoring the warmth of his hand against her skin, despite the direness of his words. "What would he want with me? I thought I was supposed to be Azrael's vessel. Why would he want me when I'm supposed to be the vessel of the sister who's trying to stop him?"

"It's…complicated," he finally tells her. "Azrael is as dangerous as Lucifer. _Never_ seek either of them out. Your charms and the sigils on your ribs should hide you. _Use them_ to stay hidden."

Unnerved by his almost desperate plea, she nervously asks, "What do you know about Azrael?"

He shifts nervously as well, pulling the hand from her cheek as he looks away. "Just stay away from her," is all he'll tell her.

Glancing back, he insists, "And stop your foolish plan of looking for the Colt. Or let your brothers continue this insane task. Killing the Devil is a mission in suicide."

Tabitha yanks her right hand out of his grip, annoyed at him refusing to divulge any information about what he seems to know of the angel that has stalked her dreams—though she hasn't seen the angel in a while now.

"You may think what we're trying to do is useless, but we're trying to do _something_ , Cas. At least we now know that some demon named Crowley last had the Colt," she huffs as she paces away a few steps.

Turning, she adds, "You're the one that spent all this time looking for God. And how'd that work out? I'd say pretty useless, too. But other than questioning it when you first brought it up, I haven't said a word against it. I've supported you. Even though you've been gone searching for him for months instead of here helping us with the fallout of Lucifer being on the loose."

She runs a frustrated hand through her hair, shoving the loose waves back from her face as she takes a few deep breaths before more calmly telling the angel, "We need your support in this, Cas. Looking for God isn't working. And more people are dying. We've _got_ to do _something_! Help us. Help us find the Colt. Or help us find this Crowley."

Castiel's eyes shut against her pleas, looking almost pained before he nods once and opens his eyes. He strides towards her purposefully, cupping her face with both hands, keeping her from looking away as he whispers, "I don't want to lose you."

Something in the way he says it, and the almost desperate darkening of his eyes tells her that his words mean more than just the thought of her perhaps dying. Their separation seems to have been harder on him than she'd imagined.

"I'm human, Cas," she whispers in reminder. "All you and I have is the moment. There can never be the promise of a future."

"No," he whispers in agreement, his thumbs sweeping across her cheek to brush away the tears she hadn't realized were falling. "But the thought of your death fills my chest with a crushing weight I cannot understand. You are not like the angels I've known. You intrigue me and frustrate me beyond what I imagined was possible, and yet there is a kindness in your heart that angels are not capable of. Not even myself. I don't understand what I did to hurt and anger you, but I know I _have_ hurt you. And still you somehow forgive me time and again. Each time you do, I cannot imagine why you forgive me, but I also can't imagine never seeing you again." He sighs deeply. "If you are intent on continuing your plans against Lucifer, I can't see any good outcomes coming from it. I only see death at the end of this…mission of yours."

Tabitha shivers in response, fearing deep in her heart that she can only see the same outcome as well.

"But what other choice do we have?" she reminds him. "We can't just keep waiting for the inevitable. For Lucifer to get what he wants. To kill us all anyway. Better to do _something_ , Cas. I can't just sit back and watch the Apocalypse roll out around me. And maybe…maybe if we _can_ actually stop it…maybe you and I can have a few moments more than just what we've got here and now."

She doesn't allow even herself to foolishly think that there's any _real_ future with the angel. There can't be, and she knows it. Despite what she'd seen when she'd been sent to the future, she knows they will never have that kind of future. Never have one _together_.

Her hand slips into the pocket of her black slacks, caressing the ring that she always carries with her. Even in her dreams, it seems.

It's both a painful and comforting reminder of what they can't ever have. Painful because she knows it will never come to pass. Yet comforting at the same time, because she can still imagine a future where it _almost_ did. And sometimes in her rare dreams, she lets herself imagine a future where she actually wears his ring instead of always hiding it away.

"You still want my help then in finding the Colt?" he asks.

"Yes."

He nods, stepping back while his hands slip away from her face. Staring down at the floor between them, he clasps his hands behind his back. And once more, he's the stoic angel, the brief glimpses of emotion he sometimes allows her to see locked behind a nearly impenetrable wall once more.

Woodenly, he tells her, "I've heard rumors of this demon, Crowley, still holding the Colt." He looks up, his eyes guarded as he tells her, "I'll help you find him."

* * *

Tabitha and Sam lean side by side against the Impala, listening to Dean as he speaks to Castiel on the other end of the line.

"So he just showed up in your dream and told you that he'd heard about some demon having the Colt?'

"Basically," Tabitha confirms, not delving into the truth. All her little brother really needs to know is that the angel is helping them now.

"How's he even find you in your dreams?" Sam continues pressing. "I mean, I thought the whole carving up the ribs thing was supposed to keep us hidden. And then you've got those charms on top of it."

She shrugs. "I don't know," she admits. "I guess it has something to do with me being different. You know, hearing angels."

"So other angels can find you, too?"

She shakes her head. "No. Well, Azrael did a few times." Then she remembers, "although, not since just before Castiel started showing up in my dreams again."

Her face closes off as she realizes that after Castiel carved her ribs, she hadn't seen him in a dream again for months. Only Azrael had been able to find her. And then he'd shown up in New Orleans, having had to ask Bobby for her location to find her. But after that, or perhaps after her trip to the future, he'd been able to enter her dreams again. And she hadn't seen Azrael afterwards.

The light catches on her charm bracelet, causing her eyes to linger on the angel wing charm. She reaches down to run a finger along the curved edge of the wing. As always, it feels slightly warm. That fact alone has never surprised her since they touch her skin, but she grazes the other charms, and in the cool winter air, they feel icy to the touch. So why does the angel wing charm feel warm?

"But I don't get why Castiel can find you and not other angels," Sam says, pulling her from her thoughts.

"I don't know, Sam," she says in exasperation. "He just can. I think it has something to do with him knowing the 'feel' of my dreams or something. I think that's what he said."

"How the hell much time does he spend in your dreams that he knows the feel of them?" Sam suspiciously inquires.

"'Going down?' Right. Okay, Huggy Bear. Just don't lose him," they hear Dean saying behind them, and Tabitha uses the opportunity to turn away from Sam's questions, twisting to watch Dean over the back of the Impala as he paces with the phone to his ear.

"It still seems weird to see him talking on the _phone_ with an angel," she comments.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "He doesn't seem to understand them, though. He hadn't set up the voicemail the last time we tried calling him."

With a faint smile at Castiel's cluelessness, she tells her brother. "Hopefully he has by now. I told him in my dream that he needed to get it set up. It's not that hard. All he has to do is press one on the phone and follow the automated instructions."

Sam grunts. "He'll still mess it up."

They watch as Dean continues pacing, then hear him say, "That's okay. You did great. We'll take it from here."

He shoves the phone into his pocket, turning to face his siblings. "We've got a location," he explains, an expression of excitement on his face at finally finding a solid lead on the Colt.

"Great, let's go," Sam tells them, his own voice taking on an anticipatory edge.

As Sam climbs into the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean motions across the top of the car for Tabitha to wait.

Leaning down to fold his arms on the roof, Dean asks his sister, "So after all this time looking for the Colt, then us _just_ getting the lead on Crowley from Sam's superfreak, and _bam!_ " —he slaps the back of his hand against his other palm— "suddenly Cas shows up in your dream to tell you he's got a lead on that same thing, and even where the damn demon is?"

Mirroring his body language, she folds her arms on the roof as well. "Yeah. What's the big deal, Dean? He knew we were looking for the Colt, and he found the same lead freaky fangirl gave us. Better yet, he knew where the demon was. I thought that's what we wanted."

"It is," he agrees. "I'm just wondering at the timing. I didn't even realize Cas knew that much about our plans. Or gave a damn about anything but finding God."

"He's an angel," she points out, shrugging as if she is unconcerned. "What are you so paranoid about?"

He huffs in response. "Paranoia's necessary sometimes, Tab. You know that. I'm just curious about Cas suddenly coming to you and saying that he knows where the Colt is right when we get a lead. And then within the hour, he's got the location of the demon pinpointed. Even the place the damn demon is staying. Seems to me that there's something wonky about the whole thing. Either Cas isn't telling us everything about how he knew we were looking for the Colt, and or him finding that demon was too easy."

Narrowing her eyes, Tabitha asks, "If it was easy, why are _we_ going after this demon, Dean? I mean, one demon should be easy enough for Cas to handle himself."

Relaxing slightly, he admits, "Cas said he couldn't get to the demon. His place was covered in Enochian sigils keeping him out."

"Well, there you go," she points out. "Guess it's not so easy after all."

Dean still seems suspicious, but Tabitha gives him her best I've-got-nothing-to-hide smile. The same she'd successfully used every time she'd snuck out as a teenager, and every time she'd assured Dean that she was hanging out with friends and _not_ going somewhere with a boy.

Frowning, Dean turns away to climb into the Impala, no more aware that _she_ was the one that had told Castiel that they were still searching for the Colt than he had been when she'd assured him she was going to a study group instead of going to a drive-in movie with a much older Andy Maddix. But then as now, she figures that there are some things that Dean just doesn't need to know about.

* * *

Tabitha saunters to the main gate of the mansion, making certain to sway on her stiletto heels for full effect, knowing that she's garnering the attention of the guards watching the security camera mounted on the high stucco wall. Pressing the intercom button, she pops her hip out a little, sliding one black stiletto forward to show off her bare, and well-tanned leg, exposed up to the hem of her tight sheath dress at mid-thigh. It's almost indecently short—as both her brothers pointed out with red faces—but the shorter the dress, the higher its effectiveness in distraction she's found.

"Hello?" a voice comes across the intercom.

Running her hands down the black sleeveless number, fitted so tightly it's almost a second skin, she almost breathlessly answers, "I—I need some help. My car broke down just down the road a ways, and I just don't know what to do."

There's a pause, no answer immediately coming.

Sighing for effect, Tabitha rolls her shoulders back, leaning forward towards the camera over the intercom as she rubs at her calves, not having to fake the soreness from having to walk down that road in five-inch stiletto heels.

"Maybe one of you could give me a ride back, I'm not sure I can make it so far again in these heels."

There's a muffled sound over the intercom, and Tabitha can almost see in her mind the image of a guard leaning forward over his monitor, staring at her plumped cleavage being displayed in the monitor as she leans forward to rub her calves.

"I'll be right down," she hears the guard answer throatily. Followed by what sounds like a loud swallow.

She turns away to wait, nearly laughing at the predictability of the male species.

Soon, she hears the creaking of the wrought-iron gate, and she turns to eagerly wait for the pair of guards eyeing her the way a wolf might a steak.

"Evenin' darling," the suave looking blonde tells her, gesturing inside the compound in invitation. "Why don't you come inside?"

She leans forward to cross the open gateway, but suddenly feels a chill that wracks her whole body, making her shiver and feel a thin layer of sweat break out across her all at once. But she can't seem to force herself to take a step past the walls into the compound.

Both guards pause to give her suspicious looks.

Knowing she has to play her part, Tabitha sucks in a deep breath, ignoring the way her skin tingles with goose flesh and her body quakes in near pain, forcing one foot forward by sheer force of will.

And with one foot across the plane of the wall, the inexplicable sensation falls away like a veil and she can move forward with ease.

Tabitha allows a few more steps in, eyeing the predatory looks of the two guards. The blonde gives her a hungry and lustful look, but the brunette further back just looks hungry. Looking at her not like she might be a foxy woman, but instead like she might be a tasty fox.

Although used to hunting demons, Tabitha still steps back, a little unnerved by the eager and hungry look in the eyes of the brunette. Nearly shuddering at the way he licks his lips.

"I just needed to make a phone call," she hedges.

The blonde demon advances on her, approaching the opening of the gate with greedy steps. "You don't need to call anyone, baby."

"Maybe I'll just wait by my car," she suggests, backpedaling quickly, drawing him closer to the entrance as both demons now pursue her.

"We're the only help you're ever gonna need," the blonde tells her, his grin widening to display his predatory smile.

Tabitha turns away, but just as she takes a step, feels the demon closest to her clap a tight grip on her shoulder, halting her escape.

"We said get your ass in here," he growls behind her, all attempts at human civility evaporating.

Spinning into his grip, Tabitha knocks his hand away. With her other hand, she slams a hard chop with the side of her open hand against the side and back of his neck, grinning in satisfaction when the demon hits his knees at her unexpected assault.

Before the dark haired brunette can get the jump on her, she sees Sam rush from behind him, slamming Ruby's knife into its neck.

"Sam," she calls, holding out her hand.

Her brother tosses the knife from where he stands over the now dead demon, and she catches it easily, twisting and plunging the knife down into the chest of the blonde demon before he can pick himself up from the pavement.

"Nice," Sam compliments when she tosses the knife back to him.

"You, too." Turning to Dean, she grins. "Told you they'd take the bait."

He stops to look her up and down, readjusting the bags of supplies in his hand, uncomfortably shifting as he clears his throat. "Yeah, well, if you'd leaned down any lower, that dress would have been labeled entrapment to any breathing male. Demon or otherwise."

Shrugging coyly, she admits, "I just wanted to make sure they had good incentive to come open the gate."

Dean tosses one of the bags to her, saying, "Remind me sometime to explain to you that it doesn't take much to get the attention of any living breathing man—probably not even a dead one. You don't need to flaunt that much of your goods to get their attention, long as they got a set of eyes. Hell, most guys are hooked just when a pretty girl smiles. Don't take much to get our interest."

Opening the bag to grab a pair of wire cutters to cut security camera feeds and power lines, Tabitha mutters, "Don't I know it. I've seen how little it takes to get you drooling over a woman. But even _you_ look at what a woman's wearing. The more scantily-clad the better."

Looking up again, she tells her brothers, "Let's get this over with. Maybe there'll still be enough time before this night is over that I can actually wear this dress somewhere that doesn't involve stabbing the guys I'm flirting with. Maybe I'll even get lucky."

* * *

Tabitha cuts the power to the house, quickly stalking inside where her brothers are already searching. She only takes a single step onto the smooth wood floors before she steps silently out of her stilettos. It robs her of the height they'd granted her, but the trade-off in silence and maneuverability more than compensate as she tiptoes silently through the house.

Hearing the creaking of footsteps down a hallway to her right, she raises her sawed-off shotgun to her shoulder, at the ready as she eases down the hallway behind her brothers and the demon they're facing as it strolls out of another room into the open space. The sawed-off would seem at odds with an evening dress to most women, but Tabitha can only wish that it was the first time she was sporting the look of eveningwear meets Dirty Harry.

Unfortunately, she can't think of a single time that she's actually worn a dress like this that she _hasn't_ been either playing bait for her brothers and father or for the FBI. No wonder her dating life has always been so stagnant. If a guy _did_ take her out on a date to wine and dine her in a fancy dress, she isn't sure she'd even know what to do with her hands without a weapon of some kind in them and the expectation that she was shooting, staking, or beheading _something_ before the night was over.

Although, when she stops to think back, she _had_ worn a beautiful dress—two actually—when they'd been sucked into TV Land and she'd agreed to that date with Gabriel. And there hadn't even been weapons or blood of any kind involved.

How sad was it that her best date was with the angel-turned-Trickster-wannabe-Hugh-Heffner?

The demon strolling out from another room seems to spot her brothers just as Sam speaks.

"It's 'Crowley,' right?" he causally greets.

The demon waltzes closer, obviously unconcerned by their uninvited house crashing.

"So…the Hardy boys finally found me." Looking up, he catches sight of Tabitha noiselessly approaching and tips his glass to her, adding, "And Nancy Drew, too."

Derisively, he then tacks on, "Took you long enough."

Tabitha shares an uneasy glance with Dean at the comment, suddenly wondering if her brother's paranoia had actually been well founded.

Crowley comes closer, but then stops as he looks down at a rumpled rug on the floor.

When Tabitha glances questioningly at her brothers and sees their baited breath, she is suddenly struck with the urge to slap them both in the back of their heads. It had been their job to set a discreet Devil's Trap. Discreet was obviously something she was going to have to go over with them.

As Crowley crouches to toss a corner of the rug back to expose part of the spray painted trap, she does growl lowly at her brothers, telling them, "Good going, Hardy Boys. At least Nancy Drew would have been smart enough to _smooth the rug out when she was done tagging it!_ "

"Oops," Dean mutters, looking down in slight embarrassment.

Leaving the rug lay partially overturned, Crowley stands and tells them in annoyance, "Do you have any idea how much this rug costs?"

Huffing her own frustration, Tabitha tells him, "Trade you the Hardy Boys for the tagged rug. At least it might still be useful."

Amidst her brothers' mutters, Tabitha suddenly feels arms wrap around her, one strong hand wrenching the shotgun up over her head and dropping it as her arms are twisted behind her back. She'd been so caught up in being perturbed with her brothers' shoddy work that she hadn't even heard the demons approaching behind them.

With her arms secured behind her back, twisting painfully on her shoulders, she looks over to see her brothers likewise detained.

"Shit," she mutters to herself.

"Nice going, _Nancy Drew_ ," Dean growls across at her. "You were supposed to clear the rest of the house once you cut the power."

"Oops," she repeats of his earlier mutter, mentally kicking herself for getting distracted from her job and joining them when she'd heard them instead of clearing the house. Though, to give herself credit, she'd expected that they'd clear the house before trying to corner Crowley.

Glancing at Dean again in the trap they've found themselves in, she admits, "Okay, maybe you were right. Maybe finding Crowley was a little too easy."

Crowley ignores the family drama, holding up a revolver that Tabitha could have sworn hadn't been in his hands moments before.

"This is it, right?" he asks them, his eyes on the gun as the Winchesters look it over, each confirming to themselves that it is indeed the Colt. Or at least what was described to Tabitha.

Continuing, Crowley says, "This is what it's all about."

He smiles, and then levels the gun in their direction.

Jutting her chin out, Tabitha waits for him to shoot, thinking to herself that even if she's barefoot, at least she'll get to die all dressed up. Even that little grace was almost more than she'd ever hoped for.

Before she has time to think of anything else, or for any of the silly just-about-to-die clichés like her life flashing before her eyes can happen, a shot rings out, something whistling past her ear as she dazedly registers two more shots resounding over the ringing in her head.

She'd expected to go limp and fall to the floor, instead, the demon behind her goes slack, his gorilla grip on her arms falling away as she hears the muffled thud of him hitting the floor behind her.

Looking over, she sees her brothers wearing identical expressions of shock that she can only assume mirror her own.

In the stunned silence, Crowley tells them, "We need to talk." He pauses, looking pointedly at the crumpled demons as he quips, "Privately."

Without waiting for their response, Crowley turns and walks back into the room Tabitha had seen him exit several minutes before, leaving the Winchesters to trail behind him in stupefaction. Still too stunned to do anything else.

Dean seems to recover first, demanding, "What the hell is this?"

Crowley turns back to them when he reaches an antique desk, gesturing to the Colt as he asks in return, "Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?" The room is dark, save for a fire lit in the fireplace, the dancing light giving an unsettling ambiance to the already perplexing situation.

The demon sweeps a hand towards them, and Tabitha gives a startled jump when the door they'd just entered slams behind them.

"There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists at all," Crowley tell them, leaning back on the desk as he faces them. Smiling in a manner that Tabitha can only classify as devilishly, he adds, "Except that I told you."

"You told us?" Sam incredulously repeats.

"Rumors, innuendo…" Crowley confirms. "Sent out on the grapevine."

"Why?" Sam questions. "Why tell us anything?"

Crowley holds the Colt up as if admiring it, and then points it at Dean, looking down the barrel as he tells them, "I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face."

"Uh-huh," Dean grunts, not allowing a gun being aimed at his head to ruffle him. "Okay. And why exactly would you want the Devil dead?" he demands.

Folding her arms over her chest, Tabitha replies, "Obviously, someone has some daddy-issues. Humans rebel against their fathers; apparently demons try to slaughter theirs."

Crowley shoots her an unamused look, lowering and uncocking the Colt as he fires back at her in a snit, "You would know all about daddy-issues, right, luv?" He huffs and turns his attention back to Dean, telling him as he sets the Colt on the desk, "It's called…survival."

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Crowley continues, "But I forgot—you two, at best, are functional morons." His lip curls as he looks at Tabitha and disdainfully adds, "And I can't even fathom what possible use _you_ are."

Her own lip curling in anger, Tabitha rolls her shoulders back, thrusting her chest out as she theatrically fluffs her hair with one hand and gestures to her cleavage with the other. "Little old me?" she questions in a sultry tone. Dropping the smoothness from her voice, she growls, "I'm just the requisite blonde with the perky tits."

Crowley actually pauses to unsubtly peruse said assets, his lips pursing in agreement as he gives an admiring nod.

Anger boiling at the demon so obviously checking out his sister, Dean huffs, "Yeah, you're functioning…morons," stumbling over his flubbed and unimpressive quip. Still stuttering, he continues, "Mor…"

Cringing at his almost unintelligible attempt at an insult, Tabitha mutters to Dean, "Quit while he still thinks you're at least functioning."

"Lucifer isn't a demon, remember?" Crowley continues in the same voice one would use with a five-year-old they were trying to explain physics to, ignoring Dean's attempted insult. "He's an angel—an angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just…filthy bags of pus."

Following his unappetizing metaphor, he turns to pick up his glass again. "If that's the way he feels about you…what can he think about us?" he asks, sipping what she assumes is whiskey from the tumbler.

Sam doesn't seem convinced, stating, "But he created you."

"To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder," Crowley explains. "If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind…we're next. So…help me. Huh?" he tells them, tipping his tumbler back and forth at his beseeching question.

When the Winchesters only shift uneasily, he continues, "Let's all go back to simpler, better times. Back to…when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, damn it." At his last plea, real emotion breaks through, showing Tabitha that he is indeed earnest in his desperation to topple Lucifer.

"So, what do you say?" Crowley continues more sedately, turning to set his tumbler down, retrieving the Colt once more as he says, "What if…I give you this thing…" he holds the Colt butt first towards them, "and you go kill the Devil?"

The siblings share an uneasy look as Crowley eagerly waggles the gun at them.

Painstakingly, Sam reaches out to take the gun, drawling, "Okay."

"Great," Crowley crows in satisfaction, shoving his hands into his pockets as he grins happily.

Carefully, Sam asks, "You wouldn't happen to know where the Devil is, by chance, would you?"

As if searching his memory—and surprising them all with an answer to what they had been sure was a rhetorical question—Crowley thoughtfully answers, "Thursday." He turns to pick up his tumbler again as he continues, "Birdies tell me…he has an appointment in Carthage, Missouri."

"Great," Sam says looking at his siblings in surprise. He glances down at the Colt and mutters, "Thanks."

Then he lifts the gun, pointing it between the demon's eyes as he cocks the hammer and pulls the trigger.

The hammer clicks on an empty chamber as the demon stares at him unsurprised.

Crowley shocks them further by turning back to his desk, conversationally telling them, "Oh, yeah, right. You probably need some more ammunition."

As he starts rummaging, Dean overcomes his shock to question, "Ah, excuse me for asking. But aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?"

Irritably, but logically, Crowley answers, "Number one—he's gonna wipe us all out anyway. Two—after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three—" he continues, his voice raising to a menacing shout, "how about you don't miss?! Okay?! Morons!" He stands from the desk, something in his hand as he gestures at Tabitha. "Just have her shake her perky tits under his face to distract him!"

Dean starts to sputter another angry reply when Crowley tosses the object in his hand at him. And while Sam and Tabitha look over his shoulder as he opens a leather pouch with bullets, they hear a faint whoosh. When they look up, the demon is gone.

* * *

"Who you got money on?" Jo asks as she takes a swig from her beer, nodding to the table across the way.

Tabitha raises her own beer bottle to her lips, pausing to consider the strange pair facing off at Bobby's small kitchen table.

"Ellen's got more experience," she concedes to Jo, nodding at the other blonde woman's mother. "But something tells me that a few shots aren't going to slow the angel down."

Jo leans back, a brow rising in blatant challenge as she reaches into her jeans and slaps a twenty down on the smaller dinette table the two women are occupying on the other side of the kitchen.

Tabitha grins and reaches into her own pocket, pulling out a hundred and slapping it down while chiding, "Why don't we step it up and make it worth my time?"

Huffing, Jo pulls out another four bills to slap down, turning when Tabitha does to watch the odd pair as they stare each other down.

Ellen picks up one of the lined up shot glasses, expertly downing it and then setting it on the table upside-down as she lays down the gauntlet. "All right, big boy. Let's go."

Castiel pauses to glance at the table in confusion, and then Tabitha hears his voice float across her mind, _I don't understand where I'm supposed to go._

Snorting and fighting to keep from bursting with laughter, Tabitha silently answers, _Just drink the shots, Cas._

Still stone faced, Castiel reaches out to grab one of the shots, downing it as expertly as Ellen had. But he doesn't stop at one, and continues on to the next, and the next. Until he's downed all five shots in one go.

He shakes almost nervously as he looks up at a startled Ellen, telling her, "I think I'm starting to feel something."

"What!" Jo mutters in dismay.

Standing, Tabitha collects the money from the table, ruffling the younger woman's hair as she passes her, advising, "It takes a lot to slow an angel down, honey. They can go all night." She adjusts the strap of her tank top, and then shoves her winnings into the deep pocket of her cargo pants.

She misses the speculative look Jo shoots her as she passes into the other room, approaching where her brothers are seated with Bobby's cluttered desk situated between them.

As she wanders up, she hears Dean chuckle, "Sam Winchester having trust issues with a demon. Well, better late than never."

Standing behind her much bigger little brother, Tabitha ruffles Sam's hair as she adds, "Oh, you know how it is, Dean. Winchester men have to be screwed over, four…maybe five times before they learn their lesson."

Sam playfully shoves her hand away, fighting a smirk as he tells them, "Yeah, and thank you both again for your continued support."

Tabitha grins as she maneuvers around the desk, moving a pile of books so she can climb up to sit cross-legged at the end of the desk with her brothers on either side of her.

"You're welcome," Dean laughs as the three siblings lean in to tap their bottles together in a cheer.

More seriously, Dean sets a folded up map on the desk as he tells them, "And, you know, trap or no trap, we got a snowball's chance, we got to take it, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Sam reluctantly agrees.

"Besides, I'm not sure it is a trap," Dean tells them, pointing to the map. "Check it out. I mean, Carthage is lit up like a Christmas tree with Revelation omens. And look at this. There's been six missing persons reported in town since Sunday," he tells them, spinning several printed pages around for them to look at.

Picking up his beer, he confides, "I think the Devil's there."

"Okay," Sam agrees as Tabitha fights a shiver.

She's managed to put the memory of Lucifer speaking to her from the body of Sam out of her mind, but the fleeting image of that prick's condescending smile swims to the surface again. Seeming so wrong and foreign in the guise of her younger brother.

Seeming to note her discomfort, Dean glances back to Sam and tells him, "Look, when you think about it…you can't come with."

Predictably, Sam huffs in annoyance. "Dean…" he starts to argue.

"Look, I go against Satan and screw the pooch…okay. We've lost a game piece. That, we can take. But if you're there…then we are handing the Devil's vessel right over to him. That's not smart."

" _We_ ," Tabitha corrects. "I'm with you on Sam staying away," she tells her older brother, knowing that the two of them _both_ remember all too well that memory of Satan wearing their brother in the future. "But you're not going alone. _I'm_ coming with you."

"No, you're not," he replies, his eyes cutting over to her. "I don't know exactly what happened there in the future, but I warned me very clearly to keep you away from that bitch Azrael, _and_ Lucifer. So you're not going either."

"You can't go alone," she huffs wondering what he'd been told by his future self. "You need backup, and who better to back you up than your own damn sister. We need you, too. It's smarter if we _both_ go."

Jumping in, Sam interjects, "Since when have we ever done _anything_ smart?"

"I'm serious, guys," Dean returns.

"So am I," Sam and Tabitha both reply at once.

Splitting an annoyed look between his two older siblings, Sam continues, "Haven't we leaned a damn thing? If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it together. All three of us."

He stares hard at both of his protective siblings. Tabitha relents first, sighing and turning to stare at Dean, silently siding with her younger brother as they wait to see Dean's verdict.

He sighs as well, looking away before telling them, "Okay. That's a stupid friggin' idea…"

Dean pauses as they hear increased voices from the kitchen, and they all turn to see what the commotion is. While Dean looks momentarily intrigued by the cheerful sounds, Tabitha frowns at the way Jo is leaning down at the table, her hands braced on the surface as she laughs at something said, her face turning towards Castiel as she grins and flirtatiously chuckles at whatever is going on.

Tabitha can't see the angel's face, only his back, but she knows coy feminine laughter when she hears it, and she knows the real reasons why a woman bats her eyes like that.

When Jo's hand moves to lightly brush across Castiel's on the table, her gaze narrows and her breathing becomes shallow.

Sam turns back from looking into the kitchen as Jo slowly pulls her hand away, laughing as she turns to saunter towards the fridge. Looking at his siblings, Sam tells them, "Boy. Talk about stupid ideas."

"Good god," Dean mutters while his sister simultaneously growls, "That sonofa…"

Clearing his throat, Dean looks at them and adds gruffly, "True, that," as he stands to leave the desk, making a beeline for Jo in the kitchen.

Sam turns perplexed looks first on Dean, and then on Tabitha, who quickly wipes the frown from her face, forcing an unconcerned shrug as she mumbles, "Whatever."

As Dean walks into the kitchen, Tabitha clears her throat and tells Sam, "I think I'm gonna go get some fresh air; that last beer's going to my head."

She leaves before he can respond, but takes the bottle in her hand with her, downing the nearly full beer as she walks out onto the covered side porch of Bobby's house. Standing at the railing, she pulls back her arm, and chucks the empty bottle as far as she can into Bobby's cluttered salvage yard, listening to the satisfying shatter as it connects with some rusted hunk of metal far beyond her eyesight in the darkened lot.

She knows she has no right to the flash of irrational anger she suddenly has towards Jo, or even towards the angel. But it settles over her all the same, aided by the liquid emotional lubrication she's been downing all night. Until a few moments before, she'd only been feeling light, heady, and giddy. Just as she usually does when she's drunk. Anger and bitterness spread over her body and mind though, sinking into her skin and wrapping around her like a cold autumn rain.

Though there's no sound, she can feel Castiel behind her, that familiar presence from the angel crawling up her spine just as it always does, whether in dreams, or in the real world.

"Bobby requests our presence inside," he gruffly tells her.

The old hunter had spent the last hour searching for his old camera and tripod, and trying to remember how to use the timer. She can only assume that he's finally demanding them to take the photo he'd been rumbling about wanting. For whatever reason, the old hunter seems determined to have a picture of the group before they leave.

For a moment, Tabitha doesn't move or say anything to acknowledge Castiel, instead, taking a moment to bolster her emotions, gathering them back from where they threatened to spill over, and shoving them back inside her chest. Once she's certain they're under control and that her face is carefully blank, she turns back to the house, avoiding Castiel's eyes as she starts past him, her attention focused on heeding Bobby's request to keep the old man from his yelling and bellyaching.

Not yet even over the threshold into the house, Castiel's hands suddenly reach out to yank Tabitha close, spinning and shoving her almost painfully against the weathered siding, a hand sliding into her hair to roughly tilt her face upwards.

For a moment, Tabitha can only stare in surprised anticipation as the angel leans over her, some emotion she can't name flashing briefly in his darkened blue depths, the sharp smell of liquor on his breath as he stares at her. Tequila, a tardy part of her mind informs her.

But he doesn't move for the longest time, only his eyes shifting, as if mapping the contours of her face. The heat of his breath is so close that it warms her nose and mouth, causing her to swallow hard, lick her lips, and part her mouth as she bites her lower lip.

His eyes jerk down to watch her mouth, seeming enraptured. Almost in anticipation, his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he stares fixedly at hers.

When he still doesn't move, she wiggles slightly, finding no room to maneuver between the hard siding pressing against her back, and the steely angel wedged against her front.

Her feet shuffle slightly, causing her pelvis to wiggle against him. The angel's right hand suddenly clamps against her hip, holding her still as he leans more securely into her, his body an immovable barrier.

She tries to look away, but his other hand remains fisted in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place.

Though her body is trapped, her hands are free between them and she slides them up to rest against the tight plane of his stomach, her fingers curling against him as she hesitantly asks, "Cas?"

The inches between their faces disappear as Castiel closes the gap, his lips crashing into hers with an almost brutal desperation.

Anger, bitterness, giddiness, and headiness—all manufactured emotions from the liquor flee, replaced by the fevered desperation for more. More of his mouth on hers, more of his taste on her tongue, more of his hands on her body.

Her hips buck against him as she moans into his demanding kiss, groaning in satisfaction at the way his fingers eagerly dig into her hip, holding her still once more as his hips grind with aching slowness against her, her muscles clenching rhythmically at the feel of him rubbing where her body would gladly welcome him. Trying to pull him closer yet, her arms move to his back, sliding up until her hands are anchored to the width of his shoulders.

Castiel's other hand leaves her hair, sliding down to cup her breast through her tank top, massaging in time with his hips. She jerks her head back, gulping greedy gasps of air as the angel moves his lips down to her exposed throat, dragging his teeth across the smooth expanse with brutal and tantalizing slowness.

"Tab! You get your scrawny ass in here!"

Bobby's shout snaps Tabitha back to the present. Her hands unwrap from the angel's back and push lightly on his chest until he's staring down into her eyes once more. The blue depths are darkened to a night sky now, the usually brighter color of his iris bleeding away under the lust-filled look he gives her.

"We have to go, Cas," she whispers, unsure what else to say to him or even what just happened out here on Bobby's porch.

"Tabitha Mary Winchester!" Bobby shouts again, three-naming her and effectively forcing her compliance as only a parent can do.

"We just…we can't," she tells him, regret straining her voice.

The angel suddenly pulls away from her, the array of emotions that had been swimming in his eyes suddenly shut behind some wall, that stoic mask in place again as he wordlessly steps around her and into the house.

After taking a moment to catch her breath and fan her face, Tabitha finally follows, finding Bobby and the others waiting in the living room.

Bobby fiddles with his camera, jerking a thumb towards where everyone else is waiting in the corner, telling Tabitha, "Get your ass in line, girl."

"Why we gotta do this, Bobby?" she asks as she avoids letting her eyes stray in the direction where the angel stands stiffly next to Sam.

There are grumbles of agreement from the others as she moves to the other end of the grouping, frowning when she realizes she either has to stand next to Jo, or go back to stand next to Castiel. She glances across the way, but the angel's face is still tight and drawn, frown firmly in place.

Folding her arms over her chest, she stands a little ways away from Jo, almost annoyed now that Sam and Dean had insisted that the girl and her mother were the only help they could get in going after Lucifer and that they did in fact need whatever help they could get.

Finally done fiddling with the old camera, Bobby pushes his wheelchair back towards the lineup, grumpily telling them all, "I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by."

Ellen laughs as Tabitha pushes away the arm Jo tries to sling over her shoulder.

Still laughing, Ellen ribs, "Always good to have an optimist around."

Jo frowns at Tabitha's sour look, but turns a little more into Dean who seems oblivious to his sister's ire. Tabitha finally drops her hands, shoving them into her pockets as she steps over further to make room for Bobby's wheelchair.

"Bobby's right," Castiel suddenly breaks in, his voice deeper than usual. "Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on earth."

Everyone sobers at the angel's dire comment, looking nervously at each other before, turning back to the ticking camera.

Tabitha twists slightly as Jo rests her hand on Bobby's shoulder, looking past the others to gaze worriedly at Castiel as he stands woodenly at the other end of the lineup.

Before she can turn back to the camera, she hears, _For the first time in my existence, I am afraid._

_Of what?_ she silently asks the angel, even as she hears the camera click and sees the bright flash of light from the corner of her eye. But she doesn't look towards the camera, instead, continues looking towards the angel as she awaits his reply.

It doesn't come, and with the picture taken, Castiel silently stalks out of the room.

The rest of the group also silently disbands, each somberly heading to their beds for the night, thoughts on what the next day may bring, and what their chances of success and survival might be.

Tabitha watches as her brothers wordlessly take up their normal positions on the couches, Jo curling up on one of the nearby easy chairs as the three silently close their eyes and wait for sleep. She doesn't see Ellen or Bobby, but assumes they've found beds elsewhere as well.

She knows that she should trudge up the stairs to the room she'd long ago claimed as her own in Bobby's house and get whatever sleep she can to be well rested for the next day. But her feet carry her out to the covered porch where she'd been earlier in the evening, finding Castiel standing at the railing where she'd been standing, looking up at the starlit sky.

Part of her knows that Castiel is probably right in the assessment of it being their last night on earth—she knows they can't kill the Devil without a huge sacrifice—and she knows that one night isn't near long enough for she and the angel to have the discussions they need to have to hash out all of the undercurrents that have been left unchecked between them for months now. So many things had happened. So many things left unsaid.

They haven't really talked since before Lucifer had gotten free. Since before he'd died and come back. Since before she'd left for New Orleans. Since before she'd gone to the future.

It's been a long time since they sat and talked she realizes. She's not even sure when the last time was. She misses that part of their friendship. Simply sitting and talking to the angel about things she can't tell even her brothers.

Their relationship had changed when sex had entered the equation, but then, she shouldn't be surprised about that. Sex always did change things.

Now, instead of talking, they sit in silence. As they so often do of late when she sees him.

It isn't an uncomfortable silence she realizes. On the contrary, there is something about those times they sit in silence that fills her with peace. Even a kind of happiness. An emotion she hasn't been all that familiar with.

Comprehension fills her, for she knows now that the silence isn't something she's willing to give up. Not even for those simple conversations.

There's something about the silence that reaches deeper into her than any banal conversation ever could. Almost as if in the silence, the truth is easier reach. Easier to grasp without the words to twist and muddle the truth.

Castiel stands at the railing, his body ramrod stiff, but the fear he'd silently spoken of is somehow palpable to her senses.

She eases closer, noting that he doesn't react to her approach, likely having sensed her the moment she'd started after him.

But he doesn't turn in her direction as she steps to the railing and then turns her back to it, lifting herself up to sit on the rail beside where the angel keeps a silent vigil.

From her position facing the opposite direction he does, she can turn easily to regard him, watching the tenseness of his features as he stares up at the sky. She wonders to herself if angels look to the sky when they think of Heaven, as a human would do.

Briefly, she considers Heaven and wonders if that's his fear. Fear that something will happen tomorrow and that he won't ever return to his home in Heaven.

No, she decides. He'd told her once that Heaven is where humans go when they die—not truly their home—but that he also didn't know what happened to angels when they died.

He'd died once already and been brought back. And even when he'd been going after Raphael with Dean, while she'd been in New Orleans, he hadn't feared never returning to Heaven. And he'd been certain at the time that he was spending his "last night on earth." He'd come to her in New Orleans for one last night together, but he'd just seemed…resigned to his fate. Not afraid.

So what is his fear _this_ time on his last night on earth?

"I never felt fear before," he suddenly whispers.

She nods, waiting for him to speak.

Silence may speak volumes, but if the angel wants to voice his fears, she'll gladly listen to his words as well.

"Is it so crippling, even for humans?" he asks, suddenly turning his head to look at her.

"Fear?" she confirms.

At his nod, she heaves a sigh. "That's a difficult question to answer, Cas. It depends on _what_ the fear is. What…level of fear, I guess."

She bits her cheek as she tries to explain it better. "Fear is a broad thing. I fear that if I quit smoking I'm just gonna pick up my chocolate habit again and put ten pounds of fat on my ass and thighs, but that's not a crippling fear. It's just a silly, nagging fear." Ruefully, she runs her hand through her hair and tells him, "I sometimes have an irrational fear that one of my brothers—Dean mostly—is going to put itching powder in my hair and it'll all fall out, leaving me bald. But it's silly and I know it's not real."

"This consumes me," Castiel tells her, his voice almost catching in his desperation.

Reaching a hand between them, she softly touches his knuckles resting on the railing, curling her hand over his when he doesn't pull away.

"Some fears are consuming like that," she confides in a hushed whisper. "Sometimes, some emotions run so deep, that they nearly paralyze us. And the ache in our chest builds and builds until it feels like we can't even breathe or move or think."

"Yes," he agrees. "That's what I feel." He turns more fully towards her, standing sideways to the railing, looking almost lost as he asks, "You've felt this?"

At her affirmative nod, he asks, "How do you overcome it?"

"Depends on exactly what the fear is about and what _can_ be done about it." Lowering her voice, she adds, "If this _is_ our last night on earth, there's probably not much we can do about it anyway, so why fear it?"

For a moment, she looks away, emotions swelling in her throat as her vision blurs. But she clears her throat and tries to keep from losing her tenuous control.

It might truly be her last night alive, she realizes. Killing the Devil is nearly an impossible task. And she doesn't want there to be any regrets. She might not be able to say everything to the angel that needs said, but she knows some things _can't_ go unsaid.

"When you died," she begins, her voice trembling from the restrained emotion, "I feared that the hole you left in my heart would never be filled. That it was this empty cavern that would just grow and grow, and if I got too close to it, it might suck me in and swallow me whole, consuming me forever."

She feels Castiel's eyes on her, but she stares down at her hand covering his on the railing, not able to meet his eyes as she finishes what she needs to say. "You mean a lot to me, Cas. More than I can put into words. More than I can even describe. I don't know what exactly you mean to me anymore. I don't know what it is or what I feel. Can't put it into words. I just know that every time I try to push you away or I almost lose you, that it rips open that wound in my heart. The one that I know will swallow me whole some day."

Castiel pulls his hand from beneath hers, and the pain of him pulling away from her threatens to reopen the wound. She tries to curl in on herself, but suddenly, Castiel is there in front of her, his hands on her knees, pushing them open as he kneels on the worn decking, laying his head in her lap as his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her tighter against him as he rubs his face gently against her stomach.

Surprised at his action, she freezes for a moment, and then slowly lowers her hand to the back of his head, gently running her fingers through the dark curls.

As if her movement is some signal, he lifts his head to stare up at her, a lost and desperate look shinning on his face.

"I've lost many brothers and sisters," he tells her. "Each time I have been saddened by it. But never this…this sense of terror just at the thought of their deaths. But the thought that you will die tomorrow in this foolish plan…I…I _fear_ it. I fear that I will fail you, Tabitha," he whispers. "I am supposed to _protect_ you."

She closes her eyes at the brief, stabbing pain as he tells her that what he fears is failing in his duty to protect her, but forces herself to open her eyes and smile gently at him. She reminds herself again that he's not human, and that no matter what she feels for him, he'll never return the same kinds of feelings for her. He might fear her death and the failure of his perceived duty—he might even miss her…maybe even mourn her—but she can't expect him to fear the same kind of emotional wounding that she's already felt at losing him.

Reasonably, she tells him, "I'm mortal, Cas. You can't protect me from death forever. It has to come some day. And if it's tomorrow…so be it. But I'm _not_ going to let the fear of it coming stop me from doing what I need to do to for a chance at stopping Lucifer. We might actually have a real shot at stopping this all tomorrow. Stopping the Apocalypse. Saving this whole planet. I can push past my fear for that."

He looks up at her, and she sees him open his mouth to say more, but lays a finger over his lips to silence him.

She'd been right; she likes the silence better. In the silence, she doesn't have to hear truths she'd rather not. Maybe _that's_ why she likes the silence better. Not because she hears the truths better. But because she hears the truths she _wants_ to hear.

Pushing all thought away, she reaches down to grip his shirtfront, gently tugging him to his feet as she slips from the railing. With his hand in hers, she leads him into Bobby's house, silently creeping past the living room where her brothers and Jo snore softly in sleep, past the downstairs bedroom where Bobby more loudly snores, and up the stairs to her room on the second floor.

Castiel follows her wordlessly, waiting in the bedroom with a curious look as she closes and locks her door. Turning back to the angel in the middle of her room, she crosses her arms over her body, grabbing her top and peeling it over her head.

As she toes off her boots and begins unlacing her cargo pants, she tells him, "You came to me in New Orleans when you thought it was your last night on earth, and this is looking more and more likely to be _my_ last night on earth, so I thought that you could return the favor."

Stepping out of her cargo pants, she pushes the plain white panties down as well, lightly stepping closer to Castiel as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra. She lets it too fall away as she stands unashamed beneath his hungry stare.

He swallows once, twice, and three times before he grants a silent nod, his eyes raking across her as she carefully pushes the trench coat over his shoulders.

The angel stands passively under her touch as she peels the layers away, not moving under her ministrations until his chest is bare and she begins to loosen his belt.

His hands catch hers then, darkly whispering, "I don't want this to be the last time I feel the softness and warmth of your skin against me."

The ghost of a smile passes her lips at the almost petulant look in his eyes. "Tough," she breathes. "Not even _you_ might get much say in that. Only tomorrow knows what's going to happen."

She gasps as he jerks her to him, the roughness and desperation of their earlier kiss suddenly flaring to life again. The wall of the bedroom unexpectedly connects with her back as he shoves her into it.

As if no time has passed between now and their earlier interlude, his teeth descend to her neck, once more roughly scraping against the column of skin, her head tilting back to give him access.

All vestiges of restraint disappear in flash, his hands finding her thighs and lifting her higher against the wall, his lips dropping to suckle one breast and then the other as he settles between her thighs, rocking against her in an increasingly erratic rhythm. All she can do is curl her legs around his waist for leverage as he holds her off the ground.

"Oh, god, mmm, Cas, don't stop," she pants as his fingers dig into her thighs, pulling her against him in concert to the bucking of his hips. "Please don't stop."

More. She always needs more when it comes to Castiel. She slips her hand between them, jerking the belt away and flicking open the top button and shoving at the zipper, freeing him into her hand as she slides his length out. He gasps against her breast, his body going still and then shuddering for a moment as she works him in her grip, firmly stroking him from base to tip.

His forehead falls against her shoulder as she continues to stroke him, a strong steady rhythm that soon has his hips bucking wildly to meet her, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen twitching in anticipation.

Her hand is jerked away before she can finish him, his eyes filled with an unrestrained wildness she's only seen shadows of before as he pins her hand to the wall over her head.

She's momentarily surprised by his display of dominance, but slides her free left hand up his chest, her fingers circling the nub of his nipple as the skin pebbles beneath her touch. He gasps and she feels the pulse of his length jerk against her stomach, aching and demanding release.

But when she snakes her free hand down to cup him again, he snatches it and pins it over her head beside her right hand. His fingers stroke against her wrists, tangling with her charm bracelet, and somehow she can tell, stroking the angel wing charm he'd given her. As he stares into her eyes, she can almost swear she feels the charm heat against her skin, and her body shudders in response.

Brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance at her trapped hands, she bucks her hips against him, delighting in the gasp her movement elicits from him as she moans, "Cas, let me touch you."

He shakes his head, whispering a ragged, "No."

Those hands continue to stoke the charm for a moment, and the tingling in her skin increases.

His grip changes suddenly, gathering her wrists in one firm hold, leaving his right hand free as he leans into her, touching his forehead briefly to hers before sealing his lips over hers.

While the sharp edge of liquor is still on his mouth, she finds that it has already lessened, mixing now with the more familiar taste of him. An indescribable combination of a warm summer breeze, sweet honey, and something else that she thinks is what Heaven must taste like.

The kiss drowns out the shout that tries to leap from her throat as his hips surge forward, entering her in one smooth motion, sliding as deeply into her as their position allows.

Her arms struggle in his grip, wanting the freedom to touch him as his fingers feather over her, delving into her and pinching her nub in time to his steady thrusts. Until she feels a wildness that she thinks equals the look in his eyes.

"More," she breathes against his mouth. "Not enough. Need more," she gasps, knowing it can never be enough with him.

The hands pinned over her head are suddenly freed as he wraps his arms around her torso, moving down the wall to the low dresser, one hand sweeping out to knock the precariously stacked books from its top, and then depositing her on the cool wooden surface.

He pulls one of her legs high around his waist, and she allows the other to straddle over the side of the dresser, balancing on the lumps of books beneath her foot as he begins rocking into her once more. The changed height and positions means he can enter her fully, his hips even having enough room to twist at the end of each stroke, hitting her g-spot with each increasingly wild thrust.

With her hands free, she's able to pull his head down to hers, kissing him again as she feels him draw her lip between his teeth, lightly sucking on it, and then biting down just hard enough to give her a hint of pain.

To balance himself against her, he throws a hand against the wall. He breaks their kiss then, his head angling to rest in the crook of her neck as he thrusts almost frantically against her. His stride increasing in speed, but never losing its depth as he pulls back until only the tip of him is still within her, and then slamming forward until their pubic bones collide.

As her fingers rake up his back, he tilts her leg higher, pulling her thigh up to his ribs with his last frantic thrusts and sliding his hand down to the globe of her ass, massaging it so gently that it almost seems like an apology for the force of his thrusts.

She doesn't need or want the apology though. Savoring the uncharacteristic loss of restraint from her angel. Her body responds as well, the telltale tightening of her abdomen signaling her impending climax, though she bits her lower lip where Castiel had, holding her breath in an effort to prolong the moment a little longer. She holds out until his hands sweeps down between them again, his fingers dipping into her and pressing against her g-spot. The added friction sends a wave of pleasure across her nerve endings so intense that light flashes behind her eyes so strongly, she wonders if she'll ever see again.

Tabitha throws her head back to shout with her release, and barely remembers where they are, leaning down to clamp her teeth against the angel's shoulder to silence her ecstasy. Wave after wave washes over her, her sensitized skin feeling every ragged breath Castiel takes against her neck, every agonizing thrust as Castiel struggles to hold out a little longer, prolonging her climax until it feels like one simply rolls by into another, dissolving and then building again like an ocean tide.

On the last wave of pleasure, Tabitha moans so loudly that it comes out a strangled shout, so she clamps her teeth harder against the angel's shoulder, her fingers curling and griping his back more tightly as she feels all of her muscles intermittently lock and spasm. When the angel groans something in Enochian, she loosens her teeth, her tongue sweeping out to lave an apology against the red teeth marks blazing on his skin.

But the pressure of her teeth against his skin and her muscles clenching around him finally push him over the edge, and his cries and more Enochian she doesn't understand are muffled into the hollow of her neck as he thrusts sporadically a few more times into her.

His breathing evens out before hers, but not by much. She takes a moment to breathe in the heady scent of her angel, that warm hint of honey, and a musk all his own, heightened by their activities. Then a muscle in her back twinges, and the cool wood beneath her digs painfully into her thighs. Wiggling against him, she whispers a reminder to the angel, "Hard dressers aren't comfortable for humans, Cas."

Instantly, he lifts her from the unforgiving wood, carrying her against his chest as he moves to the bed, pulling back the covers as he sets her on the cold sheets.

She holds his hand when he tries to straighten.

"Stay," she entreats. "Where else do you have to be tonight?"

"Nowhere," he assures her, finally pushing his pants all the way down and slipping easily under the covers beside her. He lifts her hand to his mouth, gently kissing his charm on her bracelet, and she feels the tingles spread across her skin again as his kisses move down her arm to her inner elbow.

"Don't know what tomorrow will bring, but we've got the rest of tonight," she breathily reminds him. "Let's make it last."

* * *

"Yo! Tabitha. You up?"

She jerks awake at the loud pounding on her door, frantically pushing up from her bed and the angel she'd been sprawled across when she hears the doorknob rattling under her older brother's hand. The angel stares up at her with an unfathomable look, his eyes clear and bright, reminding her that she had been the only one actually sleeping.

A glance at her window shows it to still be dark outside, but she belatedly recalls that the boys had wanted to get an early start. Carthage wasn't as far of a drive as some of their jobs, but it's still eight hours. And her dry eyes remind her that she's had a half-hour of sleep at best.

Dean bangs loudly on the door a few times when he finds it locked, yelling out again, "Dammit, Tab! Open up. Are you up yet?"

Terrified at the thought of him picking the lock or breaking the door in, Tabitha yanks the top sheet off Castiel, hurriedly wrapping it around herself even as she casts about for the angel's clothes and pitches them towards the direction of her bed. As she tosses his clothes at him, Castiel finally sits up, grabbing the thrown articles as she wildly searches around the room to make sure she's gotten everything.

"Yeah, yeah!" she calls out to her brother. "I'm up. Just give me a sec!"

"What the hell are you doing? Open up," Dean commands.

Silently, Tabitha gestures at Castiel, who stands near the bed tugging his pants on, and she prays that he gets the hint for once and hides.

Dean bellows again, punctuated with what sounds like his boot kicking her door, "Open up!"

One hand fisted in the sheet, Tabitha cracks the door open, peering out at an unhappy frown.

"You just get up?" he mutters, his arm shooting out to push her door further open. He frowns at the bed-sheet she's wearing, but doesn't comment on her attire.

Surprised by his quick action, the door slips out of her hand as he passes her into her room, looking around almost suspiciously.

She holds her breath, but when she glances over his shoulder, she finds the angel gone, and heaves a sigh of relief.

Until she looks down to spot a blue tie on the ground, the end sticking out from the pile of overturned books they'd toppled from her dresser during their vigorous activities.

Before Dean can spot it, she slides closer, stepping on the end and using her toes to jerk it out, and then flinging it behind her and out the open door into the hallway.

"Well, since I'm running late, I think I'll just go grab a shower quick."

Dean turns around, still frowning at her. "Yeah," he grunts. "You look like you could use it. You look like shit. But hurry your ass up. We need to get moving."

Instead of taking offense at his words, she smiles brightly and laughs a little unsteadily. "Yeah…I, uh, I didn't sleep well last night." She jerks a nod to the hallway. "I'll just go shower now."

She steps into the hallway, trying to stay ahead of Dean so she can grab Castiel's blue tie, but it's nowhere in sight when she looks for it.

* * *

Sam hands her a travel cup of coffee when she steps into the kitchen a while later.

"Here," he says, thrusting it into her eagerly waiting hands. "Dean said you could use the pick-me-up."

"Yes, please," she enthuses, greedily gulping down the promise of liquid energy to keep her going.

"You moving furniture upstairs or something last night?" Sam suddenly asks. "We heard a lot of loud banging upstairs for a while."

Tabitha suddenly sucks in a breath, her mouthful of coffee inhaling painfully into her lungs.

"Jesus, Tab. You okay?" Sam asks, pounding on her back as she doubles over and struggles to breathe something other than coffee.

"Fine," she chokes, trying to wave him away. Finally standing up, she stutters, "Uh, yeah. Furniture. Right. That's what I was doing." She shoves her hand through her hair and stares down at her travel cup, wiping the spilled coffee off the lid. "I just got sick of the way things looked and was moving furniture and I guess I made more noise than I thought I did."

Looking away, she changes the subject, "So, is everyone else ready to go? We should get on the road."

Sam starts to say something, but stops, shakes his head, and then says, "Yeah, they all stepped outside just a minute ago."

Tabitha can't look her brother in the eye as she grabs the bag she dropped by the stairs, so instead, she hustles out the front door. She finds Dean standing by the Impala, Ellen and Jo by their car, and Bobby watching nearby, a look of longing in his eyes as he watches them load up to leave in the dim porch lights.

She wants to have a proper goodbye with Bobby, but knows that if she really attempts one, that she might break down. And she knows that he won't be able to handle that any better than she can.

So instead, she passes by Bobby, only slowing to drop a kiss on his cheek as she passes, softly telling him, "See you later, Bobby."

He huffs, but doesn't respond, although his expression darkens a little as he watches her go.

"You finally ready, Tab?" Dean asks, his fingers thrumming impatiently on the cold metal of the Impala, scraping at the white crystalline frost patterns the cold air has produced on the roof.

"Yeah," she assures him, but then steals a glance at the other two women, and takes a step in their direction.

"I think I'll ride with the girls," she tells her brothers as they start getting into their station wagon.

Dean raises an eyebrow and starts to object.

"We're all headed to Carthage," she assures him. "And I'm sick of being stuck in a car with two guys all the time. Even if you two _are_ my brothers. I'm looking forward to some girl time."

Jo wraps an arm around Tabitha as she approaches their car, smirking at Dean as she tells him, "Yeah, Dean. It's got to be some kind of cruel and unusual punishment that she's always stuck with the two of you. I'm sure she could use some conversation that doesn't involve grunts."

"Whatever," Dean rolls his eyes.

Tabitha is in the process of tossing her bag into Ellen's station wagon from the driver's side when she hears her brother calling out to the angel. She hasn't seen him since she woke, so she freezes, listening to her brother's voice instead of looking up.

"Where you going, Cas? Chicks in that car, dudes with us."

Ellen chuckles after a moment. "Guess the angel's got better taste than you give him credit for."

When Tabitha can no longer resist looking up, she sees the angel sitting in the backseat of Ellen's car, and quickly stands up, glancing over her shoulder at her brothers. Fortunately, they are already lowering themselves into the Impala, paying no attention to her or the angel.

With a sigh of relief, she turns back to the car, ready to climb in.

But Ellen's knowing gaze over the backdoor between them stops her cold.

"Moving furniture, huh?" she chuckles softly, ensuring that her words are only for Tabitha's ears.

"What-I-uh-yeah…what are you talking about?" she stutters.

Holding back a grin, Ellen informs her, "The walls between Bobby's upstairs bedrooms aren't all that thick." She starts to lower herself into the driver's seat, but then stops to add, "Although I'm sure furniture _was_ moving around last night."

* * *

The silence and discomfort had mostly bled from the interior of the car by the time they got away from Sioux Falls. And Tabitha was almost thankful for their journey beginning, even if it was one step closer to the completion of their mission—whatever that ending would be.

Ellen and Jo had shared easy conversation with Tabitha—despite the awkward talk she'd shared with Ellen at Bobby's—but Castiel hadn't said a word since they left. For which Tabitha was actually thankful, too intimidated to talk to him with Ellen's watchful and knowing eyes in the rearview mirror anyway. Over and over, she found herself praying that if Ellen had kept her knowledge from Dean and Sam this long, that it meant she did not intend to tell them. Ever.

If the angel that she'd avoided looking at all day had been uncomfortable with the silence, he didn't show it, mostly staring ahead as they drove. Or occasionally looking out the window on his side of the car. She wasn't certain, but Tabitha thought he seemed a little impatient with their mode of travel, but she figured for an angel used to simply appearing where he wanted to, that traveling by car would seem pretty tedious.

As they got closer to Carthage, both Ellen and Tabitha had fallen silent, their impending destination looming not only on the horizon but also on their thoughts. In her nervousness, only Jo still tried to keep conversation going, and when the two women would no longer engage her, she'd tried including the angel in her chatter. Only to be silently rebuffed with a frown from Castiel.

The town has an eerie feel to it as they drive down the deserted streets. Tabitha can see her brothers holding their cellphones out their windows as they drive, and checks her own, finding it without signal as well.

Dean finds an open section of the street, pulling over and waving for Ellen to pull up alongside him.

"Place seem a little empty to you?" Ellen calls across through Jo's open window.

"We're gonna go check out the PD," Dean replies. "You guys stay here." His eyes cut through the station wagon to where Tabitha leans forward between Ellen and Jo. "Why don't you hop in and help us out, Tab."

She starts to gather her things to follow them, but hesitates, glancing at Castiel from the corner of her eye. He makes no move to leave, and she suddenly finds herself wanting to spend a little more time with him.

Leaning forward again, she tells her brothers, "You guys go ahead. I'll stay here with Ellen, Jo, and Cas. None of us should splinter off alone. This way the numbers stay even."

Dean starts to argue, but Sam taps his shoulder, nodding in agreement with his sister.

"I think she's right, Dean," Sam tells him. "We should all stick close to someone."

"Fine," Dean relents, looking back to Ellen. "You guys stay here—see if you can find anybody." He pauses, and then warns them, "You guys watch out for each other and stick together."

"Okay," Ellen agrees, and then pulls the station wagon to the nearest curb.

Jo's the first to step out, eager after being cooped up on the long ride.

As Tabitha shuts the back door on the driver's side, she can see Jo step back to Castiel's side of the station wagon. Still irritated with him, she raps her knuckles on the window, leaning down to ask him, "You ever heard of a door handle?"

He appears on the sidewalk behind her before she can turn around, telling her in his wooden voice, "Of course I have."

When something appears to catch the angel's attention, Tabitha turns to look in the same direction, her breath catching at the sight.

Ellen seems to catch the angel's worried glances, asking him, "What is it, Cas?"

"This town's not empty," he informs her.

"What are they staring at?" Tabitha whispers, not turning to look across the station wagon between her and the others, still grounded by the strange sight of so many old men in suits standing so still. There's dozens of them gathered in the streets, and numerous more on several of the rooftops. All seem to be turned towards and staring at one building in particular.

She feels Castiel's head whip to stare at her, and finally tears her own eyes away from the sight to look quizzically at the angel.

"You see them all?" he asks her.

"See all what?" Ellen irritably interjects. "What're you two talking about?"

Ignoring her, Tabitha nods to Castiel, and then glances back at the strange gathering. An unsettling, and yet familiar feeling settles over her as she stares.

"Reapers," she whispers with dawning realization. They look nothing like the only reaper she really knows, Tessa, but she'd seen another Reaper that night, too. And more importantly, she now recognizes the dark, oppressive feel of them. These old men look very much like the Reaper she'd seen the demons kill that night trying to break one of the Seals.

"Yes, Reapers," Castiel agrees.

Ellen and Jo exchange startled looks, staring between the angel and the other woman.

"You can see 'em?" Ellen slowly clarifies of Tabitha.

"Yeah. I can see them," she absently whispers. She turns to Castiel again, her mouth opening to ask him another question, but she slams it shut at the almost frightened looks she's receiving from Jo and Ellen.

"'Them?'" Ellen repeats. "As in more than one?"

Castiel answers for Tabitha, but seems just as distracted. "They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe—Chicago Fire, San Francisco Quake…Pompeii."

Without warning, he steps away from the group, still distracted as he tells them, "Excuse me. I need to find out why they're here."

He takes several steps down the street before Tabitha manages to unglue her own feet to follow him. Shifting the shotgun in her grip.

"Now, where do you think you're going?" Ellen suddenly demands. "Your brothers wanted us to stick together."

"I'm not letting Cas wander off on his own," she pauses to inform the dark-haired woman. "I'll stick with him."

Mother and daughter both take a step towards her, Ellen reaching out to catch Tabitha's elbow.

"Cas can take care of himself, I reckon. You ought to stay away from Reapers though. Nothing a mortal can do about 'em," she advises.

Shaking her hand off with gentle care, Tabitha assures her, "I'll be fine. I can see them, too."

With a shaky sigh, Ellen confides, "That's what worries me, girl. Ain't natural being able to see Reapers."

Tabitha glances down the street to where Castiel has wandered. He pauses every so often to peer into the face of this Reaper or that.

"It might not be natural," she agrees, "but I'm still not leaving Castiel alone."

Ellen grabs at her again. "You best start thinking with your head instead of your heart, Tabitha," she tells the younger woman with a loaded look. "You're headed down a path of pain with him. And the mortal heart's gonna be the one that gets the brunt of it."

She swallows bitterly and jerks a nod. But knowing that Ellen's veiled warning is true changes nothing in her heart. If she's likely to die in completing their task today, she's going to do it by the angel's side.

"I know," she whispers, and then turns to jog after Castiel.

When she catches up to him, he still seems distracted, not even turning to look at her, although he does offer a low warning.

"You should have stayed back."

She steps hesitantly around another Reaper as she follows him.

"No one should go off alone now. We need to stick together."

With a probing look, he pauses to stare into her eyes. Then he surprises her by taking her hand in his, pulling her along as he leads them through the Reapers. Somehow, the shotgun grasped in her left hand doesn't feel nearly as reassuring as the warm skin under her right palm.

Lowly she asks him the thought racing through her mind. "I can see them because I'm Azrael's vessel, right?"

His steps falter, but he doesn't turn back to her as he whispers, "Yes."

Hoping to capitalize on him answering her question, she continues her line of thought, "Because she's got some kind of affiliation or something with them, right? So what is it she thinks she can do to stop all this? What can she do that Reapers themselves can't?"

Spinning to face her, his hand tightens painfully around hers. "Don't," he warns in a deep growl. "Don't even consider saying 'yes' to her. The consequences would be catastrophic."

Annoyed, she huffs, "You keep giving vague warnings like that, but what's the real truth? What are you hiding from me, Cas? What will she do that's so bad?"

"It doesn't matter," he mutters before turning away, signaling the end of their conversation.

She itches to press him further, but decides that it can wait until they're done. _Besides,_ she thinks to herself, _what does it matter anyway if I die today in trying to kill the Devil?_

After a few minutes of following behind, she starts to ask him what he's looking for, but he stops before she can form the question. Looking up into the second story window of one of the buildings. A Reaper stands there, but unlike all the others, this one stares down at them.

Castiel tugs her hand a little closer, her side bumping into his as he whispers, "Trust me."

She nods, knowing that she does without giving it thought. And between blinks, they suddenly appear in a hallway, looking down on where they'd just been standing.

Although she opens her mouth to question him, he silently shakes his head, tugging her along down a darkened hallway.

They step into a dim room that bears the testament of being abandoned for years, holes in the walls. At least where the walls haven't fallen down completely.

As they ease in, Tabitha feels the stirring of something…something powerful. But only for a moment before Castiel shoves her away from him.

In her surprise, she stumbles, falling to the ground and throwing an arm over her eyes as flames leap up in the room. Distantly, she hears the sound of her shotgun skidding across the floor.

Despite her surprise, she registers a voice greet, "Hello, brother."

When her eyes have finally adjusted to the light, she removes her forearm, spotting Castiel standing in the center of a ring of fire. From his frantic look, she can only assume it to be Holy Fire.

_Run!_ Castiel silently shouts across her mind.

But even as she gathers herself to stand, she feels someone crouch over her.

With his back to the flames that are entrapping Castiel, the stranger's face remains in shadow, unseen to her eyes. But she jerks away when the unknown man runs a finger caressingly down her arm with an air of uncomfortable intimacy and familiarity.

"So, the key comes to me," he whispers, more to himself than to her if Tabitha had to guess.

When his hand runs down her arm again to caress her charm bracelet between his fingers, she hears him murmur, "Interesting."

Moving quickly, Tabitha bats the stranger away, twisting on the floor and springing to her feet as she turns to run.

Once more, she's halted, throwing her arm up over her eyes as flames jump up around her.

For several moments, she shields her eyes, and when she can finally open them again, she sees that she too is now stuck inside a circle of flame, with no way to escape other than jumping through the fire.

Strangely, when she looks at Castiel, he seems even more frantic. Fear shining brightly in his eyes as he stares at her from his own circle of fire.

But the stranger from the shadows has stepped away from her, still staying in shadows as he stands in profile to Castiel.

Her angel finally tears his fearful gaze away from her, spinning to follow Tabitha's gaze to land on the stranger in shadows.

Castiel steps closer to his wall of flames, lowly whispering, "Lucifer."

Tabitha gasps at that, pressing a hand over her mouth. They'd come to find Lucifer, but this hadn't been quite what she had in mind. And _she_ wasn't the one that had taken the Colt, so she's powerless before him.

Lucifer steps a little out of shadows, his gaze on Castiel as he greets him.

"So, I take it you're here with the Winchesters." He pauses to throw Tabitha a smile, continuing, "More than just this Winchester anyway."

Unmoving, Castiel insists, "I came alone." He darts a look at Tabitha before adding, "She doesn't matter."

"I beg to differ," Lucifer comments, his hands gripped behind his back in a manner that reminds Tabitha so much of Castiel. The angel-turned-Devil waves a dismissive hand as he goes on, "but we'll come back to that." His chin dips as he compliments with no little admiration, "Loyalty." And then chuckles, "Such a nice quality to see in this day and age. 'Castiel,' right?" he asks.

Castiel doesn't move and doesn't answer.

But Lucifer pays that no attention, still wandering a little closer to Castiel's prison.

"Castiel…I'm told you came here in an automobile."

"Yes," her angel finally answers, seeming to find no harm in replying to the apparently innocuous question.

"What was that like?"

"Um…" Castiel starts, looking around in confusion. "Slow. Confining."

"What a peculiar thing you are."

"What's wrong with your vessel?" Castiel asks, and with Lucifer standing so close to the flames, even Tabitha can see the strange burn marks that mottle his skin, covering his face.

"Yes, um…" Lucifer looks down at his body as he admits, "Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid. He can't contain me forever, so…"

When he trails off meaningfully, Castiel lunges forward, stopped only by the flames as he threatens, "You—" He pauses at the flames, but tells his brother, "You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won't let you."

"Castiel," Lucifer whispers. "I don't understand why you're fighting _me_ , of all angels."

"You really have to ask."

Looking offended, Lucifer replies, "I rebelled. I was cast out. _You_ rebelled. _You_ were cast out. Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead. And if they succeed, guess what. You're their new public enemy number one. We're on the same side, like it or not, so…why not just serve your own best interests? Which in this case, just happen to be mine."

Seeing the almost horrified look on Castiel's face at Lucifer's comparison, she jumps to defend him, telling Lucifer, "There's one big difference between you and him. He doesn't want to see humanity wiped off the face of the earth. He _cares_ about humans."

Lucifer leaves Castiel where he stands, coming over to Tabitha. His face has softened in a benevolent smile as he leans in to whisper, "That's where you're wrong. He cares about _one_ human. _You._ " He leans back to smirk at her surprised expression, shrugging as he adds, "Maybe your brothers. But mostly for your sake I think."

Shaking her head, she insists, not looking away from Lucifer, "You're wrong. He cares about more than just us."

Lucifer lets out a laugh that tells her he's amused by her words, but doesn't argue further with her, turning back to Castiel, whose eyes are fixed at his feet.

Softly, he tells Castiel, "I really must thank you for bringing her to me. I've been looking for her for some time now. Had countless demons sent out to do the job as well. Imagine my surprise when it's _you_ that brings her to me at last."

Castiel's eyes jerk up to narrow on his brother, ordering him with the threat of violence in his voice, "Let her go. She has no part in this."

"Oh, but she does," Lucifer laughs, his arms clasped behind his back again as he strolls between the two rings of flame. "She's got as much a part in this as her brothers. Dad made sure of that, didn't he?" he sneers to Castiel.

Turning back to Tabitha, he continues telling her, "You'll go to our sister, just as surely as your brother will come to me. It's destiny. But you'll go to Azzie when I _want_ you to."

Tabitha lunges over the top of the flames, intent on tearing into the angel for threatening her and her younger brother.

Several things happen at once: she can hear Castiel shouting at her to stop, and as her arm crosses the plane of the flames, the fires leaps up, curling around her hand and wrist.

Feeling a searing pain, she pulls back, stumbling to the floor as she cradles her arm to her body, nearly choking on the cry that wants to tear from her throat in answer to the blinding pain coursing through her arm.

Looking down, she expects to see her hand scorched with red blisters from the flames. Instead, she sees the skin mottled with black, as if the skin has died but not yet flaked away to dust.

Looking over, she sees Castiel crouching in his own ring of fire, tears in his eyes as he softly warns her through the dancing flames, "Please, Tabitha, don't attempt to cross over the fire again."

She searches his eyes as she cradles her arm, feeling as though liquid fire is still coursing through her skin, and feeling tears of her own spill onto her cheeks.

Lucifer crouches then, too. Not quite between them, but so he can see them both. His hands dangle carelessly between his knees as he curiously observes her, his head tipped to the side.

"It works better on you than I thought," he comments, holding his hands up to her ring of fire as though warming his fingers at a campfire on a chilly night.

"How?" she whispers in a fearful voice, pain making her voice feel raw.

He smiles and leans closer to confide, "You have Castiel to thank for that." Leaning back, he glances at the other angel to add with relish, "And so do I."

Before she can speak, he continues, looking more thoughtful as he adds, "Of course, I have one of my demons to thank for something else as well."

At her confusion, he waves offhandedly in her direction. "For the splendid idea of marking you. It truly is a stroke of brilliance. I'll have to give a special thanks to that particular demon."

With a shiver, Tabitha scoots back until she can feel the flames licking with uncomfortable heat against her back. And wrapping her good arm around her drawn up knees, she raises her chin to tell him, struggling to keep her voice steady, "You're a little late. Cas already killed her."

Lucifer glances at Castiel and shrugs dispassionately. "Oh well," he blithely intones.

"Your quarrel isn't with her, Lucifer," Castiel tries again to convince his brother, standing to stare down at him. "Let her go. You have no need of her."

Lucifer stands as well, coolly replying, "I've learned my lesson this time. I lost to Michael once. I have no intention of losing again. And Azzie may have stayed out of it last time, but make no mistake, I know she won't again. I _need_ to have her on my side. Which unfortunately means I _do_ need the key…Cas." He slowly draws out Castiel's nickname, glancing meaningfully back to Tabitha where she still sits on the cold concrete.

He turns again to Castiel. "You want her alive, right?" he comments, folding his arms over his chest again as he strolls around Castiel's trap. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, "Well then, you should side with me. Believe me, I have _no_ intention of seeing this human dead, my brother."

Having made a circle around Castiel, he pauses to lean closer to him, whispering just loud enough for Tabitha to hear, "You know Azzie has no such intention. You know _exactly_ what she'll do to her, don't you?"

A wounded look spreads across Tabitha's face, forcing her to rise up to her knees, despite the still coursing pain in her arm as the blackness spreads across her skin and up her forearm.

"Cas?" she whispers, wondering what the Devil is talking about.

Lucifer ignores her soft plea, but Tabitha somehow knows he's all too aware of it.

Almost eagerly, he leans even closer to Castiel, pressing dangerously close to the flames himself.

"Help me, brother," Lucifer entreats. "Join me. I could use someone with your loyalty and courage. And it will ensure that you save _her_. You know that however many angels Azzie rallies to her side to help protect the girl, there will be _twice_ as many trying to kill her. And they don't even know the half of it. Do they? She'll die from Azzie's plan, or Michael's faction will kill her. I'm the _only one_ that can guarantee her life."

Castiel's eyes cut across to Tabitha again, fear and regret shining brightly. The naked emotion he normally conceals so well shocks her.

Shaking her head, she softly pleas, "No, Cas. You can't."

The light of the flame dances eerily across her angel's face as he locks all emotion away, becoming an impenetrable wall once more as he meets his brother's gaze and tells him, "No. You would kill all humans in the end. _All_ of them. I'll die first."

Lucifer steps back, sighing with a deep sense of regret as he softly agrees, "I suppose you will."

Without looking back, Lucifer ambles indifferently out of the room.

The Devil no longer there for her to purport the façade of strength in front of, Tabitha falls back to the cold cement, moaning in pain as she rocks and cradles her throbbing arm. She can feel fresh tears spill onto her cheeks, but despite her general disuse for tears and crying, she can't seem to control the pain enough to stop them.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Castiel lower himself back to the ground as close as he can to her within the confines of his trap.

In a regretful whisper, he tells her, "I shouldn't have allowed you to follow me here."

Sniffling, she shrugs. "I couldn't let you wander off on your own, Cas. Then you'd be stuck here all alone. At least we're trapped together."

"It is my duty to protect you, and I have failed," he bemoans, actually slamming his fist into the cement beside him.

"It was my choice to come with you," she reminds him, swiping her hand under her nose as she tries again to stem her tears, afraid that she's only adding to the angel's apparent guilt and torment. The distraction of talking helps some, and the pain doesn't consume her mind so strongly.

"I shouldn't have allowed it," he repeats, his eyes falling to the floor.

"Just, shut up, Cas," she sighs. "I made the choice, and we can't take it back now. Just…stop talking about that and talk about something else. Anything else to keep my mind off the pain."

He looks lost for a moment, finally shaking his head and admitting, "I don't know what you want me to say."

She shivers when she hears a fearsome howling and snarling somewhere in the distance. An unearthly sound that strike fear into parts of her heart long since hardened to the most terrifying of creatures and monsters. For the moment, she doesn't even want to guess what could howl so.

Voice breaking as she pulls her thoughts away from the unearthly sounds, she tells him, "Tell me something. Anything. I don't know. Tell me about Jesus. Was he really the son of God? Or just a man?"

Castiel's face softens at her throwing him a lifeline, latching onto the topic as he softly explains, "I was not present in Jerusalem during his life. But he was just a man. His story embellished greatly after his death. But he was a remarkable human, especially given the world at his time. And he accomplished remarkable feats… Perhaps, my father did indeed work through him."

She closes her eyes as she listens to him speak. Talking of Jesus and other humans of that period. Her mind wanders some as his speech changes and he begins weaving tales of apostles, disciples, and prophets in addition.

"Do you know that your Bible only names one female disciple?" Castiel suddenly asks.

Tabitha opens her eyes, broken out of the reverie his voice had brought her.

"I thought all the apostles and disciples in the Bible were men," she comments. Truthfully, she adds, "One of the many problems I have with the gender-biases of the Bible."

The corner of Castiel's mouth ticks up in amusement, but he continues without addressing her comment. "There was one female disciple named in the Bible. Just one. Do you know her name?"

Tabitha shakes her head. She'd enjoyed going to a beautiful Catholic Church when she lived in Virginia, but she hadn't exactly grown up with Bible study nor had the time for it in between her FBI caseload. She'd mostly enjoyed the lovely stained glass and the peaceful solitude she'd felt there.

"Her name was Tabitha," he tells her, smiling slightly at her shocked reaction. "She possessed one true talent: sewing. No unearthly talent. No remarkable talent. But she labored until her death sewing for those in need. For the homeless. And for her selflessness, at her death, Peter came to her and commanded her to rise again. So she did."

"Like Lazarus?" she asks, slightly awed, further forgetting the pain in her arm.

"Yes," he confirms. "In the Bible, she was only one of seven returned to life. And the only adult female that was given that honor."

He continues speaking for hours, telling her stories from other figures in the Bible. The _real_ stories. And as she sits and listens to him, her eyes closed as she imagines the things he tells her, she's able to ignore the pain, forget where they are.

Softly, Tabitha suddenly whispers the fear that's been in the back of her mind for the long hours that they've been trapped.

"Do you think my brothers are okay? Them and the others?"

Castiel hesitates, and she can see him consider what to tell her.

"Please, Cas," she begs. "Tell me the truth."

He finally shakes his head. Almost doubtfully telling her, "We can only hope they are. They are your only hope of escape at the moment."

In despair, she reminds him, "But that's going to take killing Lucifer. And he's still _here_ ," she tells him. "I can _feel_ it." She slaps her good hand against the cement in frustration. "Something tells me they're going to have to kill him to get us free, and I'm not even sure how they're going to _find_ him. It's been hours!"

Lucifer strolls back into the room at that moment, smirking as he casually takes a seat on a rickety wooden chair, commenting, "Plotting my demise, are we?"

Glaring at him, she fires back, "Damn well dreaming of it! It's at the top of my Christmas list this year."

He laughs, crossing one leg over the other as he folds his arms and strokes his chin, giving her an admiring look as he compliments, "Good. Glad to see you've got your fire back. I couldn't imagine that the vessel my Azzie was destined for would just sit back and snivel. I figured there had to be some of her fire in there somewhere."

"Bite me!"

Lucifer chuckles, but contents himself with leaning back and watching his trapped captives.

After a few tense and silent minutes, a woman comes jogging in. An air of excitement carries with her.

"Meg," Tabitha growls, pushing up to her knees again as she recognizes the bitch demon.

The demon throws her a sly smile, but turns her attention to Lucifer, telling him, "I got the Winchesters pinned down—well, the rest of them," she laughs with a look at Tabitha. Turning back to Lucifer, she adds, "For now, at least. What should I do with them?"

Tabitha feels her heart leap into her throat. Overjoyed to know now that they are still alive, but terrified at the notion that they are as trapped as she and Castiel are. Neither group able to help the other escape.

Lucifer looks contemplative as he watches Tabitha and Castiel, but he softly commands, "Leave them alone."

Incredulously, Meg questions, "I-I'm sorry, but are you sure? Shouldn't we—"

Cutting her off, Lucifer placates her with, "Trust me, child." He steps closer to her, caressing her face with a loving façade Tabitha doesn't believe for a moment as he explains, "Everything happens for a reason."

Turning from the demon, Lucifer says, "Well, Castiel…you have some time. Time to change your mind."

Castiel glances at his brother before looking away with steely determination.

When Lucifer approaches Tabitha's fiery prison, she briefly hopes that he's merely granting her the same dispassionate farewell.

Then, her heart plummets to her stomach when he waves a hand, the flames around her suddenly extinguishing as he reaches down to yank her to her feet.

A cry of pain escapes before she can stifle it, and Lucifer tenderly touches her face, caressing her just as he had falsely caressed his demon.

"My dear," he croons. "I'd forgotten you'd be in such pain. How unfortunate I didn't think to take care of this earlier," he tells her, trailing a gentle finger down her throbbing arm, despite her efforts to pull away from him.

"Let her go!" Castiel shouts from his trap, standing at the very edge of the flames as he stares at his brother with a promise of retribution.

Lucifer spins Tabitha around in his arms, pressing her back to his chest as he grips her hand, pulling it to the side so Castiel can see the now perfectly unblemished skin.

"See," he tauntingly tells his brother. "I've healed her. Taken away _all_ her pain."

Although she can feel the futility, she still struggles in his grip, trying to twist and turn away from the much stronger angel.

"Let go of me," she insists, ignoring how much her words sound like a plea instead of the demand she'd intended.

He ignores her, telling Castiel, "I've taken away her pain, and _now_ I'm going to make sure _you_ feel it ten-fold, brother."

Lucifer presses her tighter against his chest, his head dipping down to her ear as they stand facing Castiel. One hand is clamped across her clavicle, holding her in place. His free hand slowly snakes up from her hip, carefully slipping up to hover over her heart.

Lips brushing the shell of her ear, he lovingly whispers, "Hold still, dear. This might sting a little."

Pain unlike anything she'd ever imagined swells across her body. Blinding her every thought, feeling, and emotion. Every nerve ending and every cell in her body exploding with a pain that she knows no person has ever experienced and lived through, and that no imagining could ever fathom. It overshadows the earlier pain from the burn to her arm until she can't even recall it. As if it had been nothing but a mere irritant. Like a mosquito bite.

A sliver of her mind recognizes the blood-curdling scream of a woman, one she sadly thinks to herself can only be the dying cry of a wounded beast. Almost dimly, she finally registers that the horrifying sounds are her own screams. And then, she can only pray that it truly is her death cry.

Another voice mixes with her screams, and she at last recognizes the shouts of Castiel. His words intermixed with an enraged English she can't process, and Enochian she can't understand.

A year or a second pass. There's no definitive marking of time in her mind. Only the pain that seems to unending.

Yet, it suddenly does. Disappearing as swiftly as it had coursed through her, leaving her heaving for breath as she pries her eyes open to find she's somehow fallen to her hands and knees, her forehead resting against the cool cement. Her only consolation is that she doesn't feel Lucifer's hands on her.

Castiel's voice finally penetrates her ears. "Tabitha! Tabitha! Speak to me!"

Unable to move, stand, or even speak as he begs, she can only moan, hoping that he takes that as a sign of her answer.

"Really, Castiel?" she hears Lucifer huff in boredom. "She's fine."

She doesn't feel fine, but even such a simple rebuke seems beyond her abilities.

"Stand," Lucifer commands.

Even as Tabitha thinks to wonder whom he's speaking to, she feels her body push up, rising ungracefully to her feet. And real horror sets in at her body's automatic response to the command.

"Cas?" she tremulously whispers, horror stark in her voice as she looks up to face him.

Tears glisten unshed in the light of the fire as he stares at her, a matching look of horror in his apologetic gaze.

Lucifer steps closer, running his finger up her arm, and heralding the memory of Lucifer in Sam's body, running the same loving touch up the arm of her future counterpart.

She shudders at the realization.

"I do have that demon to thank for beginning the process of marking her," he conversationally tells Castiel. "Of course, I can bind her to me more closely than any demon ever could have. But it was a splendid idea."

Her hands shake as she glances down to pull the neck of her shirt away from her chest, transfixed by the heated skin over her heart. In her skin, there appears to be a brand. A circle around a pentagram. And in the center of the five-pointed star, three 6's, intertwined at their bases. If not for the horror filling her heart, she might have found humor in the mark of the Devil bearing such a resemblance to a Devil's Trap.

_I've failed you. Forgive me_ , floats mournfully across her mind, and she looks up to see Castiel's closed eyes.

Lucifer steps around her, impatiently commenting, "Enough of this sappiness. We've got places to be. People to kill. Come."

Her body lurches forward at his single-worded command, following him as obediently as any puppy would her new owner.

She casts one last regretful look at her still trapped angel, whispering a pleading, "Cas."

Though she knows the futility, she prays that Castiel has something up his sleeve. Anything that can help her or stop her from dutifully following the Devil.

But she turns a corner before she can see or hear him respond in any way.

* * *

Hours later, she stands with her arms crossed over her chest, fending off the chill on the darkened, old battlefield. Watching the Devil wield a shovel with a strange aplomb.

It's not just the chill that she tries to fend off. Nor the only thing causing her uncontrollable shivers, but she drives the thoughts and sounds from her memory.

"What are you even doing?" she asks, trying to fill the silence.

Still shoveling, he carelessly tosses out, "Oh, nothing much. Just trying to raise Death."

Her mouth falls open, but she slams it shut, deciding not to ask any more questions. Though she wishes it were a joke, she knows his words ring true, recognizing the strange anticipation that had hung in the air around the Reapers. They'd been waiting for _something_. She just hadn't imagined _this_.

"So you and Castiel, huh?" Lucifer casually asks, pausing to lean on the handle of his shovel as he lifts his shoulders. "So how'd _that_ happen? I mean, I get the attraction of an angel," he says, gesturing down at himself as if he doesn't look like some kind of outbreak monkey to a zombie apocalypse. "But _him_? What's the attraction _there_?"

"Go back to Hell," she growls, refusing to engage with him after she's had no choice but to come, sit, and stay at his every command.

Lucifer frowns a little at her comment, saying, "Tell me."

"Bite me!" she growls, her arms tightening around her torso against the cold and her fear.

He goes back to shoveling, but that frown remains in place, and the confident strikes of his shovel take on an angry undertone.

He mutters something under his breath that she can't quite make out. But she feels an undercurrent of confusion as he digs.

"I don't know why you're so surly with me," he finally tells her. "I'm trying to save your life."

She scoffs in disbelief. "How the hell does enslaving my will _save_ my life?"

Even though she hates watching the Devil work, she refuses to take her eyes off him, hating the chilling sight of the zombie-like townspeople eagerly waiting whatever Lucifer is doing. From the corner of her eyes, she even sees a number of Reapers that bring a chill to her spine.

Pausing again, Lucifer looks over to where Tabitha stands.

"You really don't know. Do you? You really don't understand."

He lets out a laugh that startles her, and then he resumes his shoveling, the eager motion back in his limbs as he gleefully tells her in a singsong voice, "Guess whose little angel's been keeping secrets."

Against better judgment, she asks, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Without missing a stroke with his shovel, he tells her, "Me marking you is what's going to keep you alive. Azzie, too, for that matter. And this whole planet." He lets out a dark chuckle. "Well, not most of the humans of course."

"How?" she demands.

Lucifer pauses again, setting down his shovel as he stalks closer, running a finger down her cheek before Tabitha manages to jerk her head to the side out of his reach.

"Such amazing strength," he whispers, seeming lost in thought.

Snapping out of his contemplation, he continues, "You really don't understand what my sister is. What she was made to do."

He circles around her, sizing her up. When he stops again, he leans in to tell her, "Daddy dearest wanted to make sure that if Michael and I fought again, that there would be a…an off switch. A kill switch."

"What? That's not what she…"

Lucifer folds his arms over his chest, smiling with satisfaction at her confusion. "She didn't tell you either. Didn't tell you how she intends to stop it all. Daddy made sure there was one surefire way to end it all. End everything if Michael and I battled again. And gave that power to our sister. Gave her the power to destroy _everything_. Every, living, thing. This whole planet. The whole _galaxy_!" he exclaims, throwing his arms wide.

Mockingly, he tells her, "And you think _I'm_ bad. I just want to get rid of the humans that corrupted my Father's world. _She_ wants to destroy it _all_. Heaven. Hell. Earth. Wipe the slate completely."

He chuckles at her astonishment. Shaking his head as he tells her, "Of course, like all of us, she's got to have her vessel before she can do any serious damage. And I'm just trying to make sure that when she _does_ find her the key—you—that she doesn't do anything rash."

Ambling back to his shovel, he takes up his work, smugly telling her over his shoulder, "You all call me the Devil and think I'm the big bad here, but I'm not the one that wants to go nuclear in this war."

The following silence is suddenly broken by her younger brother's shout, both the Devil and her looking up as he yells, "Hey!"

Sam marches through the assembled townspeople, cocking his sawed-off shotgun as he faces Lucifer who stands beside his sister on a mound of dirt above the gathering of townspeople.

"You wanted to see me?!" Sam demands.

Lucifer drops the shovel, dusting off his hands as he tells her brother, "Well, Sam, you don't need that gun here." He steps closer to add, "You know I'd never hurt you. Not really."

"What about my sister?" Sam snarls.

Lucifer spares her a glance, looking over his shoulder to where she remains in a motionless stance. He turns back to assure Sam, "I'd never hurt her, either. I only want to protect her. Isn't that right, Tabitha? I have no desire to truly hurt you."

Dean suddenly appears beside the Devil, the Colt in his hand as he questions, "Yeah? Well, _I'd_ hurt you." Cocking the hammer as Lucifer turns his head, he adds, "So suck it."

As Lucifer falls to the ground, Tabitha feels something within her shudder, and with a last push, she manages to stumble down the hill to where Dean stands, staring down in an anticipatory sort of disbelief at Lucifer's body.

She nearly collides with him, never so happy to see her older brother appear from thin air as she is right now.

He grabs her in return, hugging her to his side fiercely as he whispers, "Goddamn, Tab. Thought you and Cas were dead, too."

Before she can answer, a gurgling noise emits from Lucifer, and Dean shoves her behind his back, yelling at her, "Get the hell out of here."

Transfixed, she watches with growing panic as Lucifer takes a shuddering breath and lets out a petulant, "Owww!"

He rises to his feet, facing Dean and rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers as he grimaces and asks, pointing at the Colt, "Where did you get that?"

His hand slices through the air then, slamming into Dean and sending him flying into a nearby tree.

Tabitha starts after him, but stops cold when Lucifer snaps at her, "You stay right there."

Then, his attention turns away from her, focusing on Sam as she realizes she'd stopped at his vocal command, not at an undeniable internal need to follow his orders. She can feel the slither of his command in her body, but she finds herself able to slowly step backwards as Lucifer advances on Sam.

"Now…" Lucifer tells her brother, the bullet hole to his forehead disappearing. "Where were we?"

Calmly, he continues, "Don't feel too badly, Sam. There's only five things in all of creation that that gun can't kill, and…I just happen to be one of them. But if you give me a minute, I'm almost done."

When Sam turns and runs to Dean, Tabitha follows suit, turning away from Lucifer as he resumes his digging, tossing shovelful after shovelful of dirt into the deep burning pit.

She reaches Dean before Sam, turning their older brother over and propping his head against her knees as she gently tries to wake him.

She hears Lucifer pause dramatically again to say, "You know…I don't suppose you'd just say 'yes' right here and now? End this whole tiresome discussion? That's crazy, right?"

"It's _never_ going to happen!" Sam shouts, standing to face the Devil again.

Lucifer pauses when he sees Tabitha kneeling beside Dean, frowning at her before dismissing her with, "You can have your sense of freedom for now. I don't have any use for you until Azzie arrives anyway."

He continues digging, saying, "But I wouldn't say 'never,' Sam. I think it will. I think it'll happen soon—within six months. And I think it'll happen…in Detroit."

At Tabitha's gasp, he looks up to knowingly wink.

Angrily, Sam tells him, "You listen to me, you son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill you myself. You understand me? I'm going to rip your heart out!"

"That's good, Sam. You keep fanning that fire in your belly—all that pent-up rage. I'm gonna need it."

Sam finally seems to look around at the zombie-like townspeople, and asks, "What did you do? What did you do to this town?"

"Oh, I was very generous with this town," he replies. "One demon for every able-bodied man."

"And the rest of them?"

Gesturing to another freshly dug pit, he explains, "In there." And then shrugs dispassionately. "I know—it's awful. But…these horsemen are so demanding," he explains, his voice taking on that petulance again. "So it was…women and children first."

Tabitha shudders at the memory of the noises she'd heard. The things she'd known were happening when she could do nothing but try to shut her eyes to block out the sights, unable to keep from hearing the awful sounds of the dying as Lucifer had slaughtered them those hours before.

"I know what you must think of me, Sam," he comments. "The same thing I'm sure your sister does, too. But I _have_ to do this. I _have_ to. You, of all people, should understand."

"Well, what's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks in a voice that breaks, tears in his words.

Lucifer tosses his shovel down with anger. "I was a son. A brother, like you. A younger brother. And I had an older brother who I loved. Idolized, in fact. And an older sister that I adored and who looked out for me. And one day, I went to them and I begged them to stand with me, and Michael…Michael turned on me. Called me a freak. A monster. And then he beat me down. And Azrael? She turned her back on me. She did _nothing_ to help me. To stop our brother. All because I was different. Because I had a mind of my own. Tell me something, Sam. Any of this sound familiar?"

He pauses before adding, "Anyway…you'll have to excuse me. Midnight is calling. And I have a ritual to finish. Don't go anywhere you two," he tells them, turning back to his work. "Not that you could if you would."

Lucifer begins chanting over the pit, and then turns to the waiting townspeople, telling them, "Now, repeat after me. We offer up our lives, blood, souls…"

The people take up the chant as Tabitha feels Dean come to and Sam crouch beside them. She helps Dean struggle to sit. Together, they helplessly watch the townspeople fall one by one.

At their shock, Lucifer turns to them to demand in annoyance, "What?" Then shrugs and says, "They're just demons."

When Lucifer turns back to the pit and raises his hands, they feel the ground shake. Trembling like an earthquake…only deeper…more menacing.

"What do we do?" Sam asks his siblings.

"Hell if I know," Dean answers, casting a glance at their sister.

She shrugs as well, thinking to herself that they are screwed and there's no way out if Lucifer doesn't want them to escape.

Then, like an answer to a prayer, Castiel appears, crouching beside the Winchesters, a finger across his lips to indicate their silence.

Had it really been less than twenty hours before that she'd given him the same gesture and prayed that he understood it so her brother wouldn't find the angel in her bed?

They nod in response to the angel, the boys leaning closer to Castiel's on either side, even as Tabitha wraps grateful arms around his torso, relieved to see him when she'd been convinced they'd never be together again.

She opens her eyes when Dean clears his throat, finding that Castiel has transported them back to the Impala.

Reluctantly, she steps back from her angel, whispering, "I thought we were both goners, Cas."

"What the hell happened?" Dean demands, pulling her away from Castiel to look her over with the worried eyes of a brother. "Are you alright? Why the hell weren't you even trying to run from Lucifer? Why the hell were you just standing there?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but doesn't know where to begin.

Castiel comes to her rescue once more, suggesting to Dean, "Perhaps this is a discussion for another time. I suggest we leave this place."

In unspoken agreement, they all pile into the Impala, Castiel surprising Tabitha as he joins her in the back seat, unobtrusively taking her hand between them and holding it in a desperate grip.

As Dean pulls away, Tabitha belatedly demands, "Wait! What about Jo and Ellen? We have to wait for them."

Neither of her brothers turn to face her, and a heavy silence falls.

Around the sudden lump in her throat, she softly asks, "Guys? Where are Jo and Ellen? Did they leave already?"

Looking out the passenger window, Sam whispers to the night, "They didn't make it."

Carthage slowly disappears behind them as Dean tears down the highway, paying no heed to any posted speed limit signs.

Bone-crushing weariness settles over Tabitha as she leans into Castiel, resting her head on his shoulder as she whispers in a barely audible voice, "This is bad, isn't it? Like, as bad as I can possibly imagine, huh?" Her right hand settles over her heart, fingering the brand she can just feel beneath her shirt as her left hand clings to the angel beside her.

For a moment, Castiel's fingers reach up to sweep across the same spot with his free hand, barely touching the mark before pulling his hand away. His eyes clench tightly shut.

_Worse_ , he silently answers, his hand wrapping painfully around hers.

_So much worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please continue to leave your marvelous reviews! It's my fuel for writing. As Chuck says, "Writing is hard."


	10. You Don't Know What You're Missing Now

 

"So you're telling us that you're Satan's bitch now?"

Tabitha frowns at her older brother's summation. But she's not quite certain that his statement is altogether inaccurate.

"I fail to see what a female canine has to do with your sister's predicament," Castiel grumbles from his corner of the kitchen.

After a glance spared in his direction, Tabitha turns back to her brothers and Bobby gathered in a circle around the kitchen table.

They'd all still been too shocked by the events in Carthage to speak of anything when they'd returned to Bobby's the night before. Even the old hunter had welcomed them with a grievous silence, knowing with one look enough of the events that had transpired. Together, they'd gathered around the flames of Bobby's fireplace, silently toasting to the fallen hunters.

Bobby had held the photo he'd taken before the group left, and then cast it into the flames. The only hunter's rights that they could afford the departed mother and daughter. And one by one, they'd slipped away to take their solace in silence and solitude.

Though Tabitha had hoped she would find her angel waiting for her upstairs, she'd trudged up to her room, only to find it painfully empty. And even after she'd curled up under the covers, Castiel had not appeared. Instead, she had been left alone to console herself, only her own arms to wrap around her body in a feeble attempt to hold it all together.

Long into the night, she'd lain awake, waiting…hoping…needing Castiel to come and just hold her tight.

Just before she was about to drift off into a weary slumber, her eyes had caught the movement of her door easing noiselessly open. And in the pale twilight of the moon, her eyes had tracked Castiel silently ghosting into her cluttered space. He'd stood at her bed, staring down at her with an inscrutable gaze. The movement of his hands caught her gaze though, twisting and knotting in his trench coat.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Tabitha had rolled onto her side, lifting the covers in unspoken invitation. Her angel silently accepted, climbing in, coat and all, and curling into her body as he clung desperately to her smaller form.

For hours, she'd longed for him to come hold her tight and tell her that everything would be all right. Yet as she'd drifted into a restless sleep early that morning, it had been her hands smoothing across the angel's temple as he pressed his face to her chest, and it had been her voice softly whispering reassuring words as she faded into sleep.

By morning, she'd been alone in her bed once more, left wondering if she'd imagined the angel coming to her bed for comfort. With no clear answer in her mind, she'd plodded down the stairs to the kitchen, and the sight to greet her had been that of the guys gathered around the table as they waited for her.

In dull tones, she'd done her best to explain what had happened and why she hadn't run from Lucifer like Dean had shouted at her. It was difficult to put into words the compulsion she'd felt to heed his orders though. Somewhere in her telling, Castiel had appeared in the corner of the kitchen, a silent totem listening to the story.

"You're sayin' that when the Devil said jump, you had to say 'how high?'" Bobby asks, startling Tabitha from her thoughts.

"I don't know. Something like that," she mumbles, wishing the conversation would just end.

Sam stares at her in a kind of stupefied shock, but Dean looks thunderous.

His hand slams down on the table as he launches to his feet, and Tabitha thinks to herself that she'd been spot on about his expression.

In an angry burst, he bellows, "When the hell is this family going to catch a break?!"

He crosses the kitchen in halting steps. "There's gotta be some way to break this thing—this mark or whatever—right, Cas?"

Castiel still stares at his feet from the corner he leans against, his arms crossed over his chest. Lowly, he answers, "I don't know of anything that can break Lucifer's mark. And even were I not cut off from Heaven, I would be nowhere near strong enough to attempt dampening it."

"So he can just find her like she's a lost set of keys, and she's gonna stay marked by the Devil 'til when, Hell freezes over?"

"Nothing will break his mark. Nothing can mitigate it. He will always have control of her."

Suddenly restless, Tabitha springs to her feet, pacing at the opposite end of the kitchen from Dean. "So he can control me anytime he wants?" she asks, cringing when her voice borders on a high-pitched hysteria.

Sam shoves back from the table so he can twist to face his siblings. "Does that mean he knows everything you're doing? Like, listen in on you, too?"

Tabitha stops dead at his questions, the implications slowly sinking in.

In a hush, she whispers, "If he knows all of our plans before we try to go after him…"

"We're screwed," Dean fills in.

Legs suddenly feeling like Jell-O, Tabitha slides bonelessly to the floor, her back against the cabinets.

"Holy damn sonofabitch shit," she whispers incoherently to herself.

When only grunts of assent meet her explicative stream, she finally looks up, and tells them the only option she can see.

"I've gotta die."

A pin dropping in the next room could have shattered the resounding and weighty silence that hangs like a pall in the air.

"That's just about the stupidest thing I ever—"

Tabitha cuts off Bobby's angry rant, slamming her fist against her drawn up knee as she looks up at their surrogate father. "You think I _want_ to die, Bobby? But what choice have we got now?" she demands.

Tears sting her eyes, but she jabs them away angrily, still staring up into Bobby's closed off expression as she tells him, "What other choice have we got? Lucifer marked me. He could be listening in on me even as we speak or using me to find your place here and come get Sammy. It was bad enough before when it was just Azrael after me trying to get me to say 'yes' to her. Now I've got two angels on my shoulders, both trying to lay claim to me. I'm done. Worse than useless now. I'm as big a threat to you guys as anything. So there's no other options that I can see."

"This is ridiculous," Sam growls with a mixture of incredulity and anger. "I'm not letting you die just to save me. There's got to be another way to fix this than you dying, Tab."

"Damn right there is!" Dean booms.

His boots pound heavily across the kitchen as he comes to loom over his sister where she sits on the floor. "You stop that kind of talk and thinking right now. We'll figure this out. We'll stop the Devil, stop the Apocalypse, and we'll get that damn thing off you somehow."

Head cranked back on her neck to stare up at her brother, she demands, "How? We've completely stalled out on how to stop or kill the Devil, and now this?!" She jerks her t-shirt away, revealing the brand on her chest as it disappears slightly into the cup of her bra. "I'd say we slice this thing off, but something tells me it won't be that easy."

"It won't."

Dean swivels to look at Castiel in the corner of the kitchen, forcing Tabitha to lean sideways, stretching an arm along the kitchen floor to peer around her brother's legs at the angel.

Seeing all eyes on him, the angel continues. "The brand is not upon her flesh only. It is emblazoned on her very soul."

Tabitha leans back against the cabinet again, her head thunking against the chipped paint and eyes closing against the utter hopelessness of the situation.

Defiantly, Dean replies, "We'll find a way to scrub that damn thing off her. All the way to her soul. We'll hunker down here and figure something out."

With a derisive snort, Tabitha tells him, "You said it, Dean; he's got me SatanJacked just like a damn BMW. He can find me, and control me. You're right; I'm screwed. But there's no reason you guys should be, too. There's a surefire way to fix this."

"No!" Dean yells, startling her enough to open her eyes to stare up at him.

He returns to looming over her on the floor again. "We are not killing you, and you sure as hell aren't killing yourself, Tabitha. Just… _no_."

"What's our options?" she argues, "If this will work—"

"It won't!" Castiel shouts, his voice booming in an angry shout to rival Dean's previous outburst.

From his place still propped in the corner, Castiel leans forward, staring into her eyes as he tells her, "If you were to die now, your soul might very well be sent to Hell, and then simply handed over to Lucifer for him to resurrect. And even if his mark upon your soul allowed you entry into Heaven, it would be a tossup whether Michael's followers would obliterate you to keep Azrael from her vessel, or whether her followers would find you and deliver you directly into her hands."

Tabitha's eyes narrow on him across the expanse of the kitchen, deciding to latch onto anger instead of the terror the slithers through her heart at his pronouncement.

In a hiss, she tells him, "And you and I both know just why it would be so bad if Azrael gets her way, don't we, Castiel? Or at least I understand now that _Lucifer_ told me just how she'd stop things and why that would be so bad."

She can feel her brothers glance back and forth between them as the angel's eyes drop guiltily to the ground, but her eyes don't move from him as he stands in silence, no rebuttal to her angry accusation.

"Wanna fill us in?" Dean grouses. "What _else_ are we missing?" Left unspoken was, _What are we missing_ now?

Seeing that Castiel isn't going to reply to her, she tears her eyes away, looking up at her older brother as she explains, "Azrael is a goddamn global nuclear warhead. _That's_ how she plans to stop the fighting between her brothers. By killing everyone and everything. And I mean _everything_. I'm talking Heaven and Hell, too. Complete annihilation of everything in existence. And _I'm_ the key. She can't get liftoff without me."

Dean's mouth falls open in a slack-jawed shock.

Pushing up to her knees, she presses, "See why we've got to do something to…I don't know…neutralize me or something. If Azrael gets a hold of me now that Lucifer marked me, he'll have control of her power. Just like we saw in the future. He can target her power and make her destroy the human population. Of course, even if he _can't_ control her, she wants to do worse."

A hand that shakes passes over Dean's head, and his voice is unsteady as he tells her, "You heard Cas. You dying isn't going to fix any of that. It'll only deliver you into the hands of one of those dickhead angels."

Tabitha looks away, and then glances to the corner of the kitchen where the other angel on her shoulder had been. But the corner is empty. Her angel disappeared.

With her own shaking hand, Tabitha shoves back her loose blond hair, turning back to her brothers as she asks, "Then what else can we do?"

"We'll hit the books," Bobby assures her, pushing his wheelchair away from the table and heading into his living room where lore books scatter every flat surface.

"And we won't stop looking until we find something that's useful," he promises.

* * *

It's nearly dark again when the last vestiges of promise and hope seep out of Tabitha. For hours, the four of them had been pouring through every book in Bobby's house. But so far, nothing had been helpful. Sam had long since abandoned the books in favor of looking through the more vast lore online, but not even he was finding anything that proved useful.

She'd done her best to concentrate on the books in front of her, but even without her brothers and Bobby worriedly looking at her every few minutes like they'd been doing most of the day, she can't seem to fully concentrate.

Somehow, she'd hoped that Castiel would show up again with some kind of news or some miraculous idea that might help her situation out, but he'd disappeared, and hadn't returned since.

Her phone rings in her jean's pocket, forcing Tabitha to push the book in her lap aside as she maneuvers on the floor to pull her cellphone free. With a frown at the screen, she swipes her finger across the button designating "Ignore" and shoves the phone back into her pocket.

"What's the deal with you sleeping with guys whose names start with 'C'?" Sam asks.

Startled by his closeness over her shoulder, Tabitha jumps, dislodging the book from her lap as she twists to look up at Sam leaning over the back of the empty couch between them and over her shoulder.

She stutters for a moment, wondering when Ellen could have possibly told her brother about her and Castiel.

"Wh-what, I-uh, what're you talking about?"

Sam smirks at her flustered response, gesturing towards the phone she'd replaced in her pocket.

"Cort," he explains. "That's about the fourth time today you've ignored his call. I know you and Dean think I didn't know about the stuff you guys were up to when we were kids, but I knew you, you know, dated Cort years ago. And then you spent those months in New Orleans with him a while back. I just find it funny that you seem to have a thing for guys with names that start with 'C.' Cort, Collin, and wasn't your FBI partner of yours named Casey? And from what you said, you guys were more than just partners."

_And now Castiel,_ she thinks to herself.

Picking up her displaced book, she plasters a forced smile on her face as she tells her younger brother, "Oh, well, I guess I just started down the alphabet looking for a good man, and just kinda got stuck at the third letter. Lots of good ones there." A nervous laugh escapes as she turns back to her book, watching in her peripheral as her younger brother goes into Bobby's kitchen and starts poking around for something to eat.

_Good luck finding anything palatable in a kitchen owned by Bobby Singer_ , she laughingly thinks to herself.

She attempts immersing herself in her current book again, but finds she can't keep her mind on it. Despite her brothers' insistence that they'll figure out a way to keep her away from the two angels vying for control of her, she can't help but think that she's screwed. As far as Lucifer is concerned anyway.

But maybe she can convince Azrael now that her plans are over. With Lucifer's mark emblazoned on her skin—and according to Castiel, her soul—she's been rendered virtually useless to Azrael.

If she can get one angel off her shoulder, maybe it won't be so hard to convince Lucifer that she's useless to him, too.

She feels the phone in her pocket vibrate again, indicating that Cort has left a message. Again.

Thoughts on him and New Orleans, several plans begin to formulate in her mind.

There are several things that need to be done, she considers to herself.

_But first things first_ , she tells herself. _No matter what my brothers say, until I figure a few things out, I'm too much of a danger to them. They're the ones that are going to have to stop Lucifer now, and I can't be here to keep jeopardizing any plans they might come up with._

She stands quietly, glancing around to see if anyone looks her way. And when she finds that none of the guys has their attention directed at her, she turns to silently slip from the house.

The night is quiet and still on this cold winter's night in South Dakota, but every little sound seems amplified to Tabitha's ears, until she's almost certain the hooting of a nearby barn owl will surely alert her brothers and Bobby.

It somehow seems miraculous to her when she makes it out to one of Bobby's old outbuildings, and that the sound of the creaking doors don't alert anyone of her actions. And when no one comes, she eases around her Mustang.

She checks all the wheel-wells and finds nothing, but when she eases under the car from behind, she finds a tracking device under the trunk near the framework of the car.

Setting it aside, she chuckles, "FBI taught me well how to search a car, Bobby."

With one last look spared in the direction of Bobby's house, she climbs into the car and drives away, going through Bobby's lot and out a back entrance in the hopes of keeping them from noticing her departure for a while longer.

She's left a lot of her things behind at Bobby's, but she's comforted by the thought that her trunk holds a hunter's version of her old standby FBI Go-bag. It holds everything she could possibly need. Cloths, money, a few burner phones, and plenty of firepower.

That and the open road ahead of her are all she needs to begin her plans.

* * *

"You certainly pick some interesting scenery for us to meet."

Tabitha remains reclined on the worn duvet of her motel bed, thin and rough to her skin, but no different from every other motel she's stayed in over the years.

With her hands still casually intertwined behind her head on the lumpy pillow, she affects a careless shrug.

"I do my best," she tonelessly assures the angel.

Azrael wanders around the motel room for a few moments before heaving a sigh and sinking down onto the bed across from Tabitha.

" _You_ called _me_ here," the angel reminds her.

Sitting up, Tabitha nods slowly, trying to keep her calm.

"That I did," she agrees. "To tell you that you can call your dogs off me and give up on trying to get a hold of me. Your plans are useless now."

Though it's still strange to see Azrael in the image of her friend Pamela, Tabitha has been mentally cataloging the differences between the two for some time. Her manner had seemed off the very first time Tabitha had seen Azrael in her dreams and thought it was her deceased friend, but it was hard to put her finger on for a long time. Even harder to quantify. She realizes now that the biggest difference is how quiet Azrael is. Pamela had been so animated in life. Her movements and even her facial expressions had been like an ocean tide. Ever changing and ever moving.

Azrael was still. Like the icy surface of a winter pond. Hard and unchanging on the surface, but she suspects it hides a wealth of depth and emotion as well.

"I don't see why my plans would be useless," Azrael finally comments, crossing one jean clad leg over her other knee.

Tabitha finally leans forward a bit, pulling her black Led Zeppelin t-shirt away to expose the brand stamped on her chest.

The angel's eyes darken as she looks at it, and then she mutters something that Tabitha is beginning to recognize as Enochian.

"See," Tabitha presses, releasing her t-shirt and leaning back to brace her hands behind her on the bed. "I'm no use to you now. You jump in me, and Lucifer's gonna have us both on his leash. So you might as well give up on this crap and let my brother's do their thing."

After several minutes of silence, Azrael crosses her arms over her black tank top, frowning slightly at Tabitha.

"Lucifer isn't in control of you right now."

"He sure as hell stamped his brand on me like I was some damn cow," Tabitha frowns in return. "Don't know what the hell else that's supposed to mean."

For a moment, Azrael opens her mouth to speak, but stops, and stands to stroll around the room.

"I have trouble following you and finding you," she suddenly comments, startling Tabitha with the rapid topic change. "I could find you before, but that angel of yours, Castiel, he did something that has made it difficult to find you now, even for me. And now, you've foolishly allowed yourself to be marked by my brother. Yet, here you are. Calling me from this motel room."

After making a small circuit around the room, Azrael gestures around her and continues, "You came to this motel room before contacting me. Knowing how much easier it is to have dreams either in familiar surroundings, or in a current setting. So you chose this motel. And I'm certain that no matter how hard I look about, I won't find any clues as to just where you are. Will I?"

Tabitha shrugs noncommittally.

"But the real question," Azrael finally tells Tabitha, moving back to sit on the bed across form her, "is why you're able to be in the motel room at all. Why aren't you locked to my brother's side, waiting with him for the time when he can catch us both in his web?"

Frown deepening, Tabitha slowly responds, "Why would he need me locked to his side? I'm probably no use to him until you nosedive into me. Which is why I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave me alone so that I have a few less things to worry about."

"Did you ever stop to consider why my brother didn't command you to say 'yes' to me?"

Mouth falling open, Tabitha sits straighter on the bed. "I figured he couldn't. I mean, don't I have to say 'yes' to you of my own free will?" she asks, using air quotes.

" _I_ cannot force your compliance," Azrael clarifies, looking intrigued. "But one would think his control of you should be absolute enough that he could force a simple word of agreement from your lips."

Like a fish, Tabitha opens and closes her mouth several times, but no words come out.

Finally, Azrael commands her, "Tell me everything that happened when my brother marked you."

Seeing no harm in telling the angel what happened, Tabitha leans forward to brace her elbows on her knees, staring at her hands as she tells the angel the details.

"Wait," Azrael stops her near the end of her story. "Lucifer bade you tell him of your _attraction_ ," she slowly bites out, rolling her eyes at the careful wording Tabitha uses, "to Castiel, and you didn't? What _did_ you tell him?"

"I dunno," Tabitha shrugs. "'Bite me,' or something like that. Oh! I told him to go back to Hell. Why?"

Waving her hand, Azrael tells her, "I don't care about the exact wording you used. But you _didn't_ answer him. _That's_ what intrigues me. And then your brother shot him with the Colt, and his tenuous hold on you seemed to break. After all, he ordered you to stay, and you were able to flee with your brothers."

"I assumed it was because he wanted me to be able to leave," Tabitha mutters.

Smiling for the first time since Tabitha revealed the brand, Azrael sweetly tells her, "Oh, you're just full of surprises. And an iron will."

Baffled by the compliment, Tabitha tells her, "Whatever. I called you here to get at least one monkey off my back. I've told you what happened, so call your dogs off and leave me alone now."

"Oh dear, don't you see?" Azrael questions her, shaking her head as she stands to close the distance between them, "You need to tell me 'yes' _now_. Before my brother discovers a way to supplant your will again."

The angel gently cups Tabitha's cheek in her hand, prompting the irate hunter to knock the hand away as she springs to her feet.

"You forgetting something?" she grinds out between her teeth as she marches away from the angel. "Remember what you showed me on the future field trip? Because I do! You an' me locked up inside of me, a freakin' puppet to Satan's will. Well, I'm not gonna be Satan's bitch. No thanks. You can just go find someone else."

Hearing the soft chuckle behind her, Tabitha swings to face the angel again.

"Yes, that was one possibility," Azrael agrees. "But just one. Imagine my surprise when I find that you have an even stronger willpower than I had supposed. Strong enough to defy Lucifer and retain your freedom from his desire. Lucifer's command over you—over us—when we join, could still be a possibility. But not if we strike now. While he's not expecting it. He won't expect you to see the truth in your inevitable place and choice so quickly. If we join now, we can do so before he's ready to try entrapping us. We can still follow the duty our Father laid before us."

Snapping an angry flicking gesture at the angel, Tabitha reminds her, "Your father ain't _my_ father."

She steps closer as her eyes narrow on the angel, "And I have no intentions of allowing you to wipe out everything in existence." Snorting, she adds, "You were always pretty careful not to tell me exactly just _how_ you intended to end all the fighting between your brothers, weren't you? But I'll have no part in ending their squabbling by wiping out Heaven, Hell, and everything in between, just to stop them. Universal genocide _really_ isn't the answer to stopping them."

With a smile that tells Tabitha Azrael views her as a child playing in grownup affairs, the angel says, "You just don't understand, my dear. This is what my Father intended. This is how it was meant to be. There won't be any pain after I'm done. There won't be anything. It will be a clean slate. A blank canvas for my Father to begin again."

Poking at the angel, Tabitha assures her, "The current canvas may be one screwed up toddler piece of abstract art, but that doesn't mean we should tear it down and start over."

Straightening and standing taller, Tabitha tells the angel, "I came here terrified and frightened after everything that happened, but you've just reminded me that nothing's changed. I still won't ever say 'yes' to you, and I'll still do anything to help my brothers beat the Devil. Him marking me doesn't change any of that. I don't know what happened between you and your brothers, but I _love_ my brothers, and I'd give _anything_ to _save_ them. I sure as hell ain't looking to kill them. And no matter what it takes or what I have to do, I'm gonna help my brothers beat you and yours."

Eyes fluttering open as she awakens in her motel room, Tabitha stiffly sits up, wishing her confidence in the waking world was as strong as it had been in her dream world.

But one thing both she and her dream-self agree on is that she won't let the Devil stop her now. If there's some way to negate the mark on her chest, she'll do anything to find it. And anything to help her brothers in the battle to come.

* * *

In the next several weeks, Tabitha keeps in careful contact with her brothers, even if she won't heed Dean's outright orders that she return to Bobby's place. She doesn't mean to make them worry about her, but she's still determined to find some kind of answers somewhere.

Problem is, she can't find any.

She's travelled as far as Jerusalem looking for anything that might have any promise of negating or removing the Devil's mark. And not even a ritual involving tattooing a spell in Jerusalem salt over the mark makes a dent. Once the spell had been inked over the brand, it had merely shrunk into her skin, appearing to be swallowed by the brand until it disappeared.

New Orleans holds no answers for her either. Or, at least she can only assume it doesn't. Etienne and a very apologetic and irate Cort meet her outside the city, saying that she has been barred access to the mystical city. Etienne gives her a strange charm with voodoo symbols on it, but even he seems unsure what exactly his mother had done to the charm or how it will help her. Still, she adds the charm to her bracelet, and feels strangely more confident for having it. Even if she doesn't have a clue how it's supposed to help.

Cort wants to leave with her after their meeting north of the city, but after assurances from Etienne that neither he nor his mother can actually do anything more for her now that she's been marked, Tabitha dejectedly leaves the state. Alone.

Momma Cecile had sent only a simple message with her son for Tabitha in addition to the charm. That she is to trust her heart.

Whatever that means.

And though she hasn't been finding the answers she was looking for, she has been gaining some confidence that Lucifer doesn't have the control over her she'd feared, just as Azrael had told her.

The mark remains, and nightmares plague her almost nightly. But they are brought on by her own internal fears of the future. One thing is for certain in her mind, either the Devil had no interest in her at the moment, or he can't control her as she'd initially feared. Perhaps because she's an empty vessel that hasn't said yes to her angel.

At the ringing of her cellphone, Tabitha nearly hesitates in picking it up from the table in her motel room, but at seeing Dean's name on the screen, sighs and answers.

" _Have you seen Anna?_ " Dean demands across the line.

After a moment of struggling to catch up, Tabitha replies, "No. I haven't. Should I have?"

When a sigh comes across the line, Tabitha can imagine her older brother running his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner.

" _I don't know_ ," he confesses. " _She tracked me down in my dream tonight. She wanted to meet me at some warehouse later. But it was weird. Kept telling me to make sure you and Sam were there, too_."

"Why?"

" _I don't know_ ," Dean tells her. " _Like I said, it just seemed weird. I wanted to make sure you were all right before I go meet her_."

Feeling a strange foreboding sensation lick across her skin, causing the small hairs on her arm to stand on end, Tabitha hesitantly tells him, "Maybe you should call Cas and ask him about this. I agree, it seems strange that she was so insistent that Sam and I be there."

She clears her throat and cautiously asks the same question she's only dared ask him once before. "Have you seen Cas…since I left I mean?"

" _Naw_ ," he answers. " _We've been busy working cases. But we haven't seen him_." It's a less than gentle reminder that they've been busy working since she took off, but she doesn't rise to the bait and the fight her brother is angling for.

At her silence, he slowly asks, " _Have_ you _seen him?_ "

"No," she admits. "Not once," she continues, despite the pain that stings at her heart.

Gruffly, Dean tells her, " _Well, I'll give him a call and see what he thinks of this_."

On impulse, Tabitha asks, "Where are you guys?"

Not hesitating, Dean replies, " _Crap motel in some little town just off the 65 north of Lafayette, Indiana_."

"I'm in Chicago," she explains, shocking her brother by finally giving him a location to where she's been. "I can be there in a little under two hours. Just text me the address of your motel."

" _Sure_ ," he slowly agrees. " _Why you finally coming back though? I thought you said you were gonna stay away until you found something that got that mark off you_." After a loaded silence, Dean asks with hope, "Did _you finally find something?_ "

"No," she admits. "But I'm not as worried about it as I was at first. I mean, still scares the shit out of me, but I don't think he can control me now that the connection was severed when you shot him with the Colt. Probably can't again unless I say 'yes' to Azrael—which ain't ever gonna happen—but I'll explain more when I get there. Something tells me that Anna's got something going on, so I'll be there as soon as I can."

Hopefully by returning, she'll finally set her older brother's mind at ease as well. She knows that a majority of his anger and worry stems from having lost Ellen and Jo only a short time ago, but Tabitha has never been one to be protected and coddled, much to her brother's ever-lasting exasperation. And she knows that isn't likely to change. She's spent too much of her life trying to prove to her family and others that she can take care of herself to allow anyone to start taking care of her now. Somehow, she knows she has to find a way to fix things on her own.

* * *

Tabitha opens the motel room door and finds her older brother pacing and her younger brother sitting just inside the door with a troubled look on his face.

She barely has time to drop her bag inside the door before Dean wraps her in a hug, whispering into her ear a threat that loses most of its oomph from the way he tenderly rubs her back. "I should kick your ass for taking off like you did."

"I know," she agrees, smiling into his chest as the feeling that she'd made the right choice to return settles across her heart.

When Dean releases her, she is quickly pulled back into another pair of arms, those of her younger brother. Sam leans down as he hugs her to say, "We're glad you're back, Tab. Hasn't been the same without you."

Tabitha steps back to look her brother up and down, fighting a grin as she tells him, "I'm just glad you finally got your own body back from that kid, Sammy. Must have been hell to be going through puberty again in some other kid's body."

Sam laughs at the reminder of the last case he and Dean had worked while she'd been gone. Dean may have been mad at her for taking off, but Sam had been far more understanding of her need to find answers and had willing filled her in on their hunts when they talked on the phone.

Seeming tense, Sam returns to his seated position, watching the angel across the way as he continues to work at the small table in the room.

Tabitha finally looks in Castiel's direction as well, noting that he continues to studiously work, not once pausing to look her way. He hadn't even looked up when she came through the door.

"What's he doing?" she quietly asks the room in general.

Castiel answers without looking up as he draws symbols in chalk on the table. "Trying to find Anna."

When he doesn't elaborate, she turns to Dean who has continued his pacing. "Why are we trying to find Anna? I thought she wanted to meet with us?"

"We don't want her to find us, I guess," Dean mutters, still pacing. "Cas says she's got her own plan for stopping Lucifer. And for stopping Azrael."

"Okay," Tabitha drawls, "So what is it? If it's a good plan, maybe we should give it a go."

Halting, Dean shoots her a dark look, growling, "Her plan is to kill Sammy to keep Lucifer from his vessel. And to kill you to keep Azrael from hers."

"Oh," Tabitha softly whispers, dropping heavily onto the corner of one of the beds.

Across from her, Sam says in a stark voice, "Azrael wouldn't be needed if Lucifer's out of the game. Tabitha would be safe then. Maybe…maybe this plan to kill me—I mean, would it actually stop Satan?"

Angrily, Dean snaps, "No, Sam, come on." He pauses long enough in his circuitous route to shoot an accusatory glare at his sister, as if her own suggestion weeks before had prompted their younger brother's question.

Although she winces, Tabitha doesn't respond to the glare.

Ignoring Dean, Sam focuses on the angel, asking him, "Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?"

All eyes turn to Castiel as he looks up and swallows. Holding Sam's eyes he says, "No. She's a…'Glenn Close.'"

"What?" Tabitha demands, looking to her brothers for clarification, but the oldest Winchester waves her off, leaving her wondering about the angel's reference to the actress.

"I don't get it," Dean says, his feet still carrying him in circles. "We're looking for the chick that wants to gank my brother and sister." Hands spread wide, he asks Castiel, "Why poke the bear?"

"Anna will keep trying," Castiel reasonably points out, hands still busily working. "She won't give up until Sam and Tabitha are dead."

The angel pauses long enough to look up and meet Dean's eyes. "So we kill her first."

Castiel then pours a few drops of a clear liquid into his brass bowl, followed by a recitation in Enochian, "Zod ah ma ra la, ee est la gi ro sa."

With his final utterance, a brilliant red flame shoots up from the bowl, and with the swelling of power, Tabitha sucks in a deep breath. Though startled by the power, she is even more surprised by Castiel's reaction, jumping up from her seat on one of the beds to steady him when he jerks back, his breathing labored as his eyes squint tightly closed. Still breathing heavily, Castiel grips the back of one of the chairs as Tabitha soothingly rubs his back, giving her brothers a perplexed look as they stare helplessly back at her, none of them knowing how to help an angel that almost appears to be in pain.

When the angel finally begins to look up, Tabitha leans down to meet his face, silently asking him, _Are you okay, Cas?_

Aloud, he answers instead, "I found her."

"Where is she?" Dean demands.

"Not where," Castiel tells them, looking past Tabitha to her older brother. "When."

Castiel straightens and pulls away from Tabitha, facing them all as he supplies, "It's 1978."

"What?" Sam demands, hopping up from his seated position. "Why 1978?" he asks, coming closer to the others. "I wasn't even born yet."

"None of us were," Tabitha adds.

Pausing to think it through, Castiel finally explains, "You won't be…if she kills your parents."

"What?" Sam repeats.

Castiel glances between the younger Winchester siblings before explaining, "Anna can't get to either of you because of me. So she's going after them."

"Take us back right now," Dean suddenly orders.

"And deliver you right to Anna? I should go alone."

"They're our parents, Cas. We're going," Dean insists, his voice rising. "We're going."

"It's not that easy."

Sam jumps in to angrily question, "Why not?"

Moving about restlessly, Castiel tells them, "Time travel was difficult even with the powers of Heaven at my disposal."

Understanding sinks in as Sam surmises, "But you're cut off."

In an attempt to bring his own understanding to bear, Dean says, "So, what? You're like a DeLorean without enough plutonium."

With some annoyance, Castiel replies, "I don't understand that reference. But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers, no less…" He shakes his head and quietly explains, "…it'll weaken me."

"They're our mom and dad," Dean quickly maintains. "If we can save them, and not just from Anna—I mean, if we can set things right…we have to try."

For a moment, it seems that Castiel is still going to fight, but then, he sighs and nods his assent.

Quietly, he tells them, "I suggest you pack for this trip."

They all turn to their bags, Tabitha only having to step to the door to pick up her previously dropped duffle. When she turns around, she sees Castiel packing ancient looking pottery and his angel blade into a dark canvas bag that hadn't been there moments before.

Shouldering her burden, she steps closer, softly asking the angel, "Are you sure you're gonna be able to do this all right, Cas?"

He glances over his shoulder at her, and then gives a small shrug, whispering back, "We'll soon find out."

Then he turns to her brothers, gruffly asking them, "Ready?"

Sam takes the canvas bag from the angel, scoffing as he admits, "Not really."

Dean turns slightly to advise his younger brother from the corner of his mouth, "Bend your knees."

Remembering the trip to the future, Tabitha steps around to Dean's other side, looking across him to add to their brother, "And keep your muscles loose. Landing's a bitch otherwise."

Gripping Dean's arm with one hand, she inhales sharply as Castiel reaches towards her brother's with his hands, her body stiffening slightly despite her advice to Sam.

Castiel presses his fingers to their foreheads, but then seems to groan in pain as he tries to send them into the past.

Removing her hand from her older brother at the obvious pain spreading across the angel's pinched features, Tabitha reaches out to grip his arm, silently asking him once more, _Are you really all right, Cas?_

As her hand connects with his arm, the familiar angelic power swells, exploding across her skin with a force that leaves her breathless and shivering.

When she opens her eyes, she hears several car horns blaring over her panting breath, and fights the sudden chill by wrapping her brown leather coat tighter around her body.

"Tab?" she hears Sam calling out, and the sound of her brothers' voices forces her to focus again, and she looks down to see herself kneeling beside Castiel on the sidewalk.

"Here!" she calls to her brothers, carefully reaching down to cup the angel's face between her hands.

Her brothers look momentarily startled by her actions as they round the corner of the station wagon the angel is leaning against, but when she looks up helplessly at them, they finally look over her shoulder to see the angel's labored breathing and the blood trickling down his nose.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam worriedly exclaims as her brothers hurry to crouch near her.

Seeming disoriented, Castiel gently grips Tabitha's wrists, pulling them away from his face as he attempts to rise to his feet.

"Take it easy. Take it easy. You all right?" Dean asks as he tries to push the angel back down.

"I'm fine," Castiel insists.

"You're _bleeding_ , Cas. That's not fine," Tabitha responds, fear creeping into her voice as she shakes one of his hands off to carefully wipe the blood from his nose with the sleeve of the t-shirt she pulls out from beneath her coat sleeve.

Still trying to stand, Castiel tells them, "I'm much better than I expected."

Barely off the ground, the angel suddenly coughs, blood spurting from his mouth as he limply falls back to the cold concrete.

Tabitha twists to catch Castiel's head, lowering it onto her lap as she softly calls his name, shivers of fear pulsing through her as the angel goes slack, not responding to her pleas.

Sam carefully places his hand in front of the angel's nose, and then informs them, "He's breathing…sort of."

"He's an angel," Tabitha snaps. "He shouldn't be bleeding. And he shouldn't be unconscious."

Sam shrugs and asks, "What do we do?"

Feeling more comfortable with taking action, Dean slides one limp arm over his shoulder, heaving Castiel up from the sidewalk as Tabitha scrambles to stand and take the unconscious angel's other arm, helping to support his weight between her and her brother.

"First things first," Dean advises them, "we've got to find a place nearby where he can lay low and recover. Assuming he _can_ recover."

"Of course he will," Tabitha crossly snaps, waving her free hand at Castiel's bloody face as she orders Sam, "Help find something to clean him up with."

When her brother comes up with a wadded t-shirt from his own bag, she snatches it from his hands, using it to carefully mop the remaining blood from the face of the unmoving angel.

Looking around, Sam points down the covered boardwalk, "There's a little motel down that way. We can get him a room there."

As they approach the motel, Dean nods across the street and tells Sam, "We'll take care of him. There's a phone booth over there, go see if you can look up Mom and Dad's address."

Surprisingly, the clerk behind the desk of the motel doesn't seem surprised when a man and woman drag another unconscious man through the lobby of the motel. Tabitha wonders to herself what that says about this particular motel, or if it says something more about the 70s in general. But she plasters a self-assured smile on her face as Dean asks the man for a room, insisting that they need a _lot_ of privacy.

Seeing the man's gaze skip speculatively across the three of them, Tabitha laughs and rushes to explain, "This, a-uh, y-you see…this is my husband," she finally spits out, patting her free hand on the angel's chest as she continues. "And he sort of celebrated a little too hard all ready at the reception, so our best man was just helping us get him somewhere where he can rest and recuperate."

"Right on," the man nods, a big grin spreading as he bobs his head in time to some music none of them can hear. "I get it. So the two of you can continue the wedded celebrations, man. I can totally help you out with that, little lady."

Blushing at the dark look Dean is shooting her across the unconscious angel, she nevertheless continues, "Exactly. So w-we, u-uh, really don't want to be disturbed you see."

Dean stiffly slaps several bills onto the counter that they had managed to scrounge up from the 70s, stiffly telling the guy behind the tall desk, "Why don't you book the happy couple a room for the next five nights. And don't disturb them. No matter what."

"Yeah. Don't sweat it," the clerk agrees, taking the money and casually asking, "Want to buy some dope?"

Tabitha stares in shock for a second before shaking her head and answering, "Maybe next time."

Dean continues to grumble as they maneuver the angel up to the third floor and into the Honeymoon suite.

"I can't believe you told him that you were…" But trails off yet again, unable to complete the thought out loud.

"I did what I had to, Dean," she huffs, helping to turn the angel as they lower him onto the heart-shaped bed.

When she kneels on the bed and pulls on the angel's shoulders to scoot him further onto the bed, Dean winces and looks away, muttering under his breath, "This is just wrong."

Huffing, she orders, "Oh, grow up, Dean, and help me scoot him further onto the bed. He's a lot of dead weight here."

Her brother kneels momentarily on the bed to lift the angel's legs, pushing him further to the center of the bed before dropping Castiel's legs as though afraid of getting burned before backing away.

"Can't believe you let that guy think the two of you were married," he mutters again.

Checking Castiel for any signs of improvement, Tabitha irritably replies, glancing over her shoulder, "Would you have rather he'd jumped to the conclusion that the three of us were looking for a room to have some kind of freaky ménage à trois?"

Dean shudders, and pointedly doesn't respond. Instead asking, "He any better?"

"Define 'better,'" she mutters, feeling his face with the back of her hand and once more checking to see that he is indeed still breathing.

"There's nothing more we can do for him, Tab. He'll be okay in time," Dean tells her then. "We've got to focus on Mom and Dad now. We can't let Anna kill them."

"I know," Tabitha sighs, rocking back from her knees on the bed beside the unmoving angel. "But I hate just leaving him here like this. What if something happens to him? Or what if he doesn't get better?"

"If he doesn't get better, then we better start getting used to the last of the 70s. And looking forward to the 80s," Dean grimly reminds her.

Tabitha finally stands from the bed, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she replies, "No thank you. I never could stand the big hair of the eighties." She glances at Dean, trying to hide the nervousness that has worked into the pit of her stomach by teasing him, "I don't think you can pull off the long hair look of the 80s Hair Bands either."

As they move to leave the room, Tabitha pauses to glance back at Castiel, worried that she shouldn't leave him alone so helpless. Guilt licking at her insides even though she knows they have to help their parents, too.

Dean pats her shoulder reassuringly, telling her, "Don't worry, Tabby. He'll be good as new in no time. He's a tough little nerdy dude with wings."

Tabitha jerks a nod, hopefully telling her brother, "Maybe Anna landed hard like that, too. Buy us some time."

"Yeah, maybe," he agrees, but his tone isn't as sure as she wishes it was.

As they walk down to catch up with Sam, Dean finally grabs her elbow, pulling her closer and breaching the topic she'd hoped to continue avoiding.

"Now, where the hell have you been, and what were you doing those weeks you were off running around?"

But, she sighs and answers him as best she can. Filling both him and Sam in on her endeavors and her excursions. Both remain skeptical about ever finding anything now to remove the brand from her chest, but they do both share her hopes that Azrael is right that at least for now, her willpower is strong enough to keep Lucifer from controlling her again.

None of them speaks of what the possibilities might be if she were ever to say "yes" to Azrael however.

* * *

Night falls by the time the Winchesters steal a car and find their parents' address.

Almost before Dean has stopped the car, Sam is out and striding towards the little house where their mother and father live, the familiar Impala parked in front of the small house.

Dean hops out of the driver's seat to hustle after their younger brother. "Sam. Sam. Wait, wait, wait, wait."

Sam stops at Dean's hurried words, but turns to tell him, "Dean, Anna could be here any second."

"What exactly are we gonna march up there and tell 'em?" Dean reminds their brother.

"Uh, the truth," Sam tries.

"Sure," Tabitha laughs. "Their kids are back from the future to save them from an angel gone rogue?" She shakes her head and reminds him, "Kinda something most people would freak out about. Or call the cops at the very least."

"Well, then tell her demons are after 'em," Sam tries. "I mean, she thinks Dean's a hunter, right?"

"Yeah, a hunter who disappeared right when her dad died," Dean points out. "She's gonna love me."

Dean glances hesitantly at Tabitha, starts to tell her something, and then shakes his head, advising them both, "Just follow my lead."

They wait nervously on the doorstep after Dean rings the doorbell, all three shifting from foot to foot as they wait for their parents.

When the door swings open, only Dean has the presence of mind to speak, softly greeting the beautiful blond woman with, "Hi, Mary."

Sam grips Tabitha's hand in a crushing embrace as the younger siblings stare in shock at their mother. Sam has no memories of their mother, and Tabitha's memories are mostly spotty and cloudy. But nothing she had remembered prepared her for the sight of a younger version of those memories. Her face smooth and unlined, eyes clear and dark brown.

"You can't be here," Mary quietly tells Dean.

Unfazed, Dean tells her, "I'm sorry if this is a bad time."

"You don't understand," Mary interrupts. "I'm not…" she pauses to glance at the silent Tabitha and Sam before continuing more vaguely, "I don't do that anymore. I have a normal life now. You have to go."

As she starts to shut the door, Dean reaches out to stop it, telling her, "I'm sorry, but this is important, okay?"

The siblings look over Mary's shoulder at the sound of a throat being cleared, pausing to take in the sight of their father approaching their mother from behind.

John opens the door wider, one hand wrapping lovingly behind Mary's back as she turns to tell him, "Sorry, sweetie, they're just…"

"Mary's cousins," Dean rushes to explain. "Yeah, we couldn't stop through town without swinging by and saying 'Hey,' now, could we?"

Still talking fast, Dean holds out his hand towards John, introducing himself. "Dean."

"You look familiar," John comments, heartily shaking his son's hand as he darts looks at the other two siblings.

"Really?" Dean asks, laughing it off as he says, "Yeah, you do, too, actually, you know? We must have met sometime. Small towns, right? Got to love 'em."

"I'm John," their father laughs, introducing himself and holding his hand out to Sam next, though his gaze darts once more to Tabitha. Sam hesitates, but then grabs the proffered hand as emotion shines in his eyes.

When he's silent—too choked up by emotion—Dean offers, "This is Sam."

At the name, John comments, "Sam. Uh, Mary's father was a Sam."

Quickly, Tabitha covers, "Yeah, it's an old family name."

Carefully extracting his hand from Sam's tight grip, John turns to Tabitha, his curious gaze finally settling on her. "Wow," he chuckles, looking her up and down in amazement as he comments, "You look like you and Mary could be sisters, not cousins." His gaze darts between mother and daughter once more, the other two men turning to give the same scrutiny as the two blond women frown, not noticing their mirrored posture as they both fold their arms over their chests. Even their frowns mirror one another, the right corner of their lips wrinkling as they tick down in an unappeased expression.

John laughs again and realizes he hasn't reached out to Tabitha, quickly righting his mistake and politely offering his hand.

"You really do look just like my Mary," John laughs, his hand waiting in the air between them.

Unbidden, a childhood memory swells to the surface.

S*~*U~*~P*~*E~*~R*~*N~*~A*~*T~*~U*~*R~*~A*~*L

John stumbles into the motel room, slamming the door harder than he'd intended to, startling his three children in the small living room of the motel suite.

Dean looks up from the TV and across the room to where Tabitha has been helping Sam with his fractions on the floor. She hates fractions—hates even more that someone thinks it's a good idea to multiple and divide them in her own homework—but she hates the harsh silence that rings when their father comes home like this even more.

The older siblings share a silent look. A silent conversation in a matter of seconds. One they've had many times before.

The sounds of their father dropping his heavy bags in the kitchen jolt them both into looking his way, both noting the way he slightly weaves into the kitchenette, stooping to look into the small fridge.

Tabitha knows that if he's looking for food, he'll be disappointed with his find. They'd run out of cereal that morning, and she'd intended to go get a few necessities that evening after helping Sammy with his math.

When she sees their father grunt in approval and straighten back up with a bottle of beer in his hands, she bends down to her younger brother, whispering for him to put his homework away and head for bed, knowing now what kind of mood their father is in. Knowing from experience what kind of shape he's likely to be in after a hunt that's left him in this kind of dark and smoldering mood.

She gives her older brother one last silent nod as Dean stands to usher their younger brother towards the partially partitioned area that serves as a bedroom, quietly going about getting Sammy ready for bed. It's their silent agreement to split the duties, each taking their charge to handle for the evening. She knows Dean will take care of Sammy. Watch him. Protect him. And it's her turn to handle their father.

The sounds of her brothers shuffling about and Dean trying to keep Sammy quiet fill her ears as she steadies herself, pushing to stand before she cautiously makes her way into the kitchen, noting that their father has already drowned the bottle he'd retrieved from the fridge before sinking into one of the rickety wooden chairs.

He pushes the empty bottle across the table at her, throatily demanding, "Get me another, Tabby."

Her father doesn't look up into her face, but she knows what she'd see there if he did. Pale skin and tightened lines around haunted eyes. That their father is back means his hunt is over, but she knows from experience that those haunted eyes mean innocent people died. Just like her mother had.

Moving carefully, she picks up the empty bottle, stepping over to the fridge and grabbing another beer to replace it.

He stares hollowly at it for several moments, allowing Tabitha to see just the hint of the horror in his gaze before he drops his head and focuses on the new bottle. Tabitha can hear the sounds of her brothers gradually cease, the entire motel suite falling into silence as she watches her father suddenly swallow hard, shudder, and then snatch the bottle in front of him, draining it in several deep gulps as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.

When the bottle clanks loudly onto the top of the table, Tabitha doesn't jump, instead, she slowly steps forward to remove it as well.

"Get me another," he tells her, his voice still low and rough, filled with unsettled emotions.

She shakes her head in response, and instead silently moves to stand behind him, carefully peeling the leather coat from his arms, ignoring the spatters staining the smooth leather with practiced ease, thankful that none of them looks to be anything worse than what she's worked out of the leather before.

He lets her peel the coat from his arms, and just as easily lets her slip the old Colt 1911 .45 caliber semi-automatic from where he'd tucked it at the small of his back. But as she lays it aside, he demands again, "I said to get me another, Tabby."

"You've had enough, Dad," she finally whispers to him, moving to kneel at his feet. She can smell the heavy liquor on his breath and knows that he had been well lubricated before he'd even come back to the motel.

He doesn't look at her, instead, his eyes fixed off to the side as she patiently waits for him to gather himself. Sometimes she can handle their father more easily than Dean can. She can speak softly to him and get him to follow her and lay down to sleep instead of brooding and drinking. Sometimes he can just look at her, and be calmed.

But not always.

Lately, it's been even harder than usual for her to quiet and ease their father.

Tabitha reaches up to take her father's hand from his knee, lightly gripping it and squeezing it as she pleads, "Come on, Daddy. Time to stop drinking and get some rest. It won't help whoever's been lost."

When she tugs on his hand and moves to stand, trying to prompt him to stand as well, their eyes fully meet, and she see a dark emotion swell in his eyes.

Before she can release his hand or pull away, his free hand raises, the back of his knuckles swinging out to connect with her cheek as he growls, "The sight of you sure as hell don't help who's already been lost!"

Tabitha falls back to the dirty linoleum floor, clutching her stinging cheek with both hands as she stares up at her father in shock. She's seen her father in black moods numerous times, but never before had he struck her. Not once in her thirteen years.

The pain is faint. She'd been dealt worse blows when training with her brother and one of them had accidentally connected when someone was too slow or too clumsy while sparing. It's shock rather than pain that causes her to clutch her cheek and stare up at her father. Wondering to herself why it has been harder and harder for her to calm their father. Why he seems to be more and more unsettled by her. Angry even.

But her father's eyes clear and bleed into guilt and remorse almost as soon as the blow lands, hesitantly reaching out for her and then yanking back when she recoils from his touch.

"I'm so sorry, Tabitha," he thickly apologizes, not reaching out to her again, but covering his face with his hands as he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to do that," he continues, his voice coming out almost choked. "It's just so hard looking at you and seeing your mother. I miss her so damn much. You just look so much like my Mary. It's just not fair."

Unnoticed, Dean crouches behind his sister, gathering her in his arms and hugging her. Then turning her to carefully inspect her face. Her watery smile and nod must be reassuring enough, because he presses a kiss to her forehead and softly tells her, "You go climb in bed, too, Tabby. I'll take care of things out here. You'll be safe with Sammy."

She can only nod mutely, but glances over her shoulder at her father, now silently shuddering, before nodding once to Dean and leaving the kitchen.

Sammy is asleep on one of the beds when she enters, and instead of climbing onto the other bed, she slides across the top cover, wrapping her arm over her brother's sleeping form, knowing that he won't stay so much smaller than her forever, but relishing the feeling of shielding and protecting him. She knows from the look she and Dean shared in the kitchen that he was promising to take care of their father from now on, and finds herself more than happy to task herself with taking care of Sammy instead.

But as she holds her little brother and drifts off into a troubled sleep, she can't help the weight in the pit of her stomach as she wonders about her changing appearance as she gets older. Did she really look so much like her mother? And why did that have to be such a bad thing to her father? Why did it make him so sad and so angry?

S*~*U~*~P*~*E~*~R*~*N~*~A*~*T~*~U*~*R~*~A*~*L

Tabitha stares at the hand hanging in the air before her, and finally grips it, shaking it while surreptitiously stealing looks at her mother. With the objective eyes of an adult, she looks the other woman over, and notes not only the remarkably similar features between mother and daughter, but even sees her mother giving her father the same little reluctant smile she's seen on her own face in pictures. Her mother's eyes are perhaps a darker and richer shade of brown then hers, but the hue is very reminiscent and even their hair is the same tone of sun-kissed blond.

She pumps her father's hand a few times, smiling and drawing her gaze back to him as she tells him, "And I'm Tabitha. Guess I never really stopped to think about how much we look alike. Some cousins just don't fall far from the family tree," she chuckles.

As she watches her father's adoring gaze float back to her mother, a part of her that she hadn't even known she'd held onto slips away.

Her father had never again struck her after that night when she was thirteen, never in anger, and never in a drunken haze. They'd never spoken of it either, but there were many times she'd seen the dark guilt of it lingering in her father's eyes.

She'd thought it long ago forgotten, and more than forgiven, but some part of her never really had. Hadn't quite forgotten, and never totally forgiven. But the unbiased adult in her finally sees what her teenage-self never had. She'd never quite understood that he'd been striking out at the unfairness of losing her mother, the love of his life. And that she'd always been a painful reminder of just what he'd lost.

A part of the actions of that night will never completely leave her, she's not fool enough to think otherwise—she would still castrate any man that even _thinks_ of laying a hand of violence to her—but the last piece of her heart finally forgives her father, even if she can never forget the incident completely.

Looking at her parents now, and seeing the love her father obviously had for their mother, she's suddenly amazed at how long he had gone on and functioned after losing her. How well he'd continued his life and raised three children, almost always on his own. She's not certain if she would be able to have the strength to continue as her father had and not permanently take up residence in a bottle.

"That's a beautiful name," John compliments, bringing her back to the present. Or rather, her parents' past. "I didn't know my Mary had any cousins."

John looks up then, and sees that Sam is still staring at him, an obvious swell of emotion shinning in his eyes.

"You okay, pal?" he asks as Sam looks close to breaking down. "You look a little spooked," he observes.

Sam quickly shakes his head, trying to reassure him. "Oh. Oh, yeah," he quickly states as he attempts to cover his staring. "Just a…long trip."

"Yeah," Tabitha nervously laughs, discreetly elbowing her younger brother in the side as she stretches to wrap an arm behind his back. "You'll have to forgive him; Sammy tends to space out a bit when he's tired."

"Well," Mary breaks in. "Sam, Dean, and Tabitha were just on their way out."

"What?" John questions in obvious disappointment. "They just got here. Real happy to meet folks from Mary's side. Please come on in for a beer."

Dean pounces on the excuse to be invited in, despite their mother's obvious disapproval. "Twist my arm."

As the boys push past their parents into the small house, and then follow their father into the living room, Tabitha lingers by her mother long enough to quietly offer, "I'm sorry if you feel like we're invading. We really don't mean any harm."

"Then what are you doing here? And who the hell are you?" Mary demands in a harsh whisper.

They both turn to look when they hear John call out for Mary.

Before they turn to answer the summons, Tabitha tells her, "You just need to trust us right now."

The sit in the living room in a strange, uncomfortable silence, nobody knowing quite what to say for very different reasons.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sam?" John finally asks, causing Dean and Tabitha to glance at their brother from their seats on the couch.

"W— oh," Sam attempts in a flustered manner. "Yeah, yeah," he finally assures them. "Um, I'm just, um… You are _so_ beautiful," he finally blurts, still openly staring at Mary.

Dean rushes to offer an explanation when their parents look uncomfortable, "He means that in a-a non-weird, wholesome, family kind of way."

"Yeah, right," Sam agrees, nodding furiously.

"We haven't seen Mary in—in quite some time, and—see, she's the spitting image of our mom and of course Tabby here. But it's hard to remember that Tab looks so much like our mom and Mary, too, when you see her first thing in the morning looking more like Chewbacca."

Tabitha swings her hand out to knock her older brother in the gut. "Hey," she growls, and then mutters to herself, "Like you look like Brad Pitt first thing in the morning."

Dean nervously laughs again, telling their parents, "The resemblance is just… it's—"

"Eerie," Sam supplies.

Trying to remain polite, John asks them, "So, how are you all related?"

"You know, uh, distantly," Dean vaguely answers.

"Further down the family tree," Tabitha adds with a plastered on smile.

"Oh," John hums. "So you knew Mary's parents?"

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," Dean agrees. "Mary's dad was, uh…pretty much like a grandpa to us."

"Oh. That was tragic—" John tells them. "That heart attack." He pats Mary's arm comfortingly as he speaks.

As Mary shares a loaded look with Dean, he agrees, "Yes, it was."

John changes topics from the untimely death. "So, uh, what are you three doing in town, anyway?"

"Uh, business, you know?" Dean supplies.

"Oh, yeah? What line of work?"

"Plumbing."

"Scrap metal."

At her brothers' simultaneous strange answers, Tabitha nervously laughs and adds, "You know, a little of this and that. Whatever there's money to be made at."

Wanting to stop that line of inquiry, Mary pops up from her seat as she says, "Oh, gosh. It's almost seven. I hate to be rude, but I got to get dinner ready."

"Maybe they could stay," John tells her.

"I'm sure they have to leave," Mary replies, staring hard at Dean as she speaks.

The ringing of a phone interrupts, and John stands, apologizing.

"Uh, look, please stay. You know, it would mean a lot to me. I-I haven't met much of Mary's side of the family."

He turns then to go answer the phone, leaving them with the death stare of their mother.

She turns to face the siblings and steps closer. "You have to leave. Now," she orders them.

"Okay, just listen," Dean tries to argue.

"No, _you_ listen. Last time I saw you, a demon killed my parents. Now you waltz in here like you're family? Whatever you want—no. Leave me alone."

"You and John are in danger," Sam rushes to tell her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Something's coming for you," Dean informs her, having to say something after Sam's comment.

"Demon?"

Unable to lie, Dean tells her, "Not exactly."

"Well, what, then?"

"It's hard to explain it all," Tabitha tells her. "You just need to trust us."

"Try," Mary demands, putting more oomph in the single word.

"It's an angel," Sam blurts, earning annoyed looks from his siblings.

"What?" she laughs, disbelief and humor on her face. "There's no such thing."

"I wish," Dean softly answers. "But they're twice as strong as demons…and bigger dicks."

Tabitha grimly adds under her breath, "Not all of them, but most of them."

"Why would an angel want to kill us?"

"It's a long story, and we'll tell you the whole thing, but right now, you've got to do like Tabitha said and trust us, and we got to go." Dean's tone tells her there's no room for argument. When she hesitates, he adds, "Look at my face and tell me if I'm lying to you."

She does as he bids, and finds no deceit. Finally, she agrees, "Okay. Where do we go?"

"Out of here. We got to move now," Dean answers.

A frightened look crosses her face as she asks, "But what do I tell John?"

"Just tell him—" Dean starts, trying to think of something on his feet.

At the mention of John, Tabitha realizes that no noises are coming from the kitchen and steps towards it as she hears Dean call their father's name.

When no response comes, Tabitha rushes into the kitchen, finding it empty.

"He's not here," she calls back, and then finds a note by their corded phone on the wall.

_Back in 15, J_ reads the note.

"This is bad," Tabitha mumbles as Mary takes the small clipboard from the wall, staring at the note in her hands.

She turns to Mary, demanding, "Think. You know him. Where would he go at this hour? Who could have called him that he'd disappear to go see with no notice?"

"Work," Mary says softly to herself. "He might have gone to see his boss. It's close enough he could go there and still be back in fifteen minutes."

* * *

They hear the sounds of a fight in the garage as they approach, and Dean rushes ahead of them to help their father.

Tabitha enters the garage to see Anna turning just in time to grab her brother by the throat, stopping him from plunging Cas's angel blade into her back.

"I wish I could say it's good to see you, Anna," Dean chokes out past her fingers clutching his windpipe.

"You too, Dean," she greets, seeming unconcerned about the blade he holds, now immobilized by her other hand.

With ease, she tosses him towards the nearest wall and through the window, the angel blade falling to the ground.

Mary rushes forward before Tabitha can stop her, snatching the angel blade and twirling it expertly to hold in an overhand grip as she circles the angel.

Tabitha waits and watches the pair, admiring the ease in which her mother circles, noting the predatory anticipation as she assesses the angel.

When she darts forward, the blade sweeping out and barely missing the angel, Mary shouts at Tabitha, "Get John out of here!"

Her blade misses Anna several times before finding purchase as Mary slices Anna's hand.

Tabitha finally looks away, darting over to where John is struggling to his feet, gripping his elbow to yank him up and steady him.

"No!" John softly cries in disbelief, and Tabitha looks up to see Anna gripping Mary and throwing her at the windshield of a car.

Tabitha pushes John towards the exit, telling him, "Get the hell out of here."

Then she runs towards the car, getting between her mother and the angel, sweeping to pick up the dropped angel blade.

Anna hesitates as she faces Tabitha, almost remorsefully telling her, "I'm really sorry to have to do this. But it has to be done. No matter how much your death will hurt him."

Tabitha eye's narrow, guessing to herself what Anna's words mean.

"Guess that means I'll just have to do my best to make sure I stay alive," she tells the angel, and then rushes her.

Anna anticipates her rush, so Tabitha faints a stab with the blade in her right hand, and follows through with a left hook to the angel's jaw, knocking Anna sideways. Tabitha keeps her feet moving with the momentum of her punch, twisting to her left and swinging the blade in her right hand in an arcing circle to swing around at Anna's back.

Moving faster than humanly possible, Anna sidesteps just enough so that the blade only grazes her shoulder, but lifts her arms to trap and immobilize Tabitha's arm between her forearms. With a sharp chop from the side of her hand, Anna sends Tabitha careening to the side and almost falling.

Not allowing her thrown balance to stop her, Tabitha whips her hand towards the angel, throwing the blade with all her might at Anna.

The thrown blade startles her, and she hesitates before twisting to move from it, the blade slicing through her other shoulder even as she catches it in her hand.

When Tabitha rushes the angel, she hopes the unexpected will continue to keep Anna off balance, but instead, she finds herself encountering the unexpected. Anna widens her stance as Tabitha hits her instead of twisting to avoid her rush. And as Tabitha impacts with the angel, she feels an explosion of pain across her hip and side.

Both human and angel glance down at the angel blade stuck protruding from Tabitha's side, a strange blue light spilling out from around the blade amidst the dripping blood.

Though Tabitha is as shocked as Anna, she clutches the blade with her left hand, and uses the right to drive her knuckles into Anna's nose.

As the angel wipes the blood from her nose and Tabitha stumbles backwards, Mary surges forwards again, a crowbar in her hands that she drives downwards into Anna's chest.

For a moment, the angel leans forward to cough blood, but then, she pulls the crowbar easily from her chest, dropping it as she sympathetically tells Mary, "Sorry. It's not that easy to kill an angel."

"No," Sam suddenly calls out. "But you can distract 'em."

Anna turns to look as Sam slams his bloody palm into the viscous sigil on the wall. In the resulting burst of light, Anna is expelled from the area.

"Is she gone?" Mary softly asks, turning to look at Tabitha beside her.

"Yeah," Tabitha shakily answers, just as her legs give out from beneath her and she falls back onto the hood of the car behind her.

"Oh my god," Mary exclaims, rushing forward to help when she sees the blade Tabitha still clutches just above her hip bone. She starts to reach out to touch it, but stops when she notices the blueish light escaping around the blade.

Dean and Sam reach their sister at the same time, both crowding around Mary as they too stop to stare in shock.

But when Tabitha moves her shaky hands to pull the blade out, Dean rushes forward to stop her.

"Leave it in," he argues, worry making his words come out in a rush. "You don't know what that might have hit."

Teeth chattering at the coldness she suddenly feels, Tabitha shakes her head and argues, "Don't think so. Too low for kidney and too wide for any major arteries."

Dean moves to press his hands around the blade, staring in horror and wonder at the strange light that now leaks out around his fingers. "I don't know what the hell this blade is doing to you, but I don't think we should move it. They always say to leave it in."

Energy waning, Tabitha lets her head fall against her brother's shoulder as she asks, "Which of us has actual emergency first aid training? I think it's nicked the abdominal wall is all." And before he can see what she's doing, she yanks the blade free. Numb fingers drop the blade as it clatters to the cement.

Dean's fingers slip with the blood that oozes out, but quickly covers the resulting hole as he twists and orders his brother to find rags to stop the bleeding.

John hesitantly steps forward then, eyes wide in shock as he stares at them all, but he holds something out towards Dean even as Tabitha slumps back to lie against the hood of the car beneath her.

Dean glances down and sighs in relief at the sight of the first aid kit held towards him. The brothers help her peel out of her leather coat and set to work on her wound. Between the two, they manage to stuff bandaging around Tabitha's wound, slowing the blood oozing from the wound, and seeming to hold the blueish light in from escaping.

"What the hell is that light?" Dean whispers when he's finished wrapping gauze around her midsection, finally glancing up to meet his sister's eyes.

She removes the bloody hand she'd covered her eyes with, meeting her brother's bewildered gaze as she shrugs and tugs her blood-soaked t-shirt back over the bandages.

"I have no idea," she admits. "But I could almost feel…whatever it was…slipping through your fingers."

"What the hell _is_ going on?" John demands then. "Why was that woman trying to kill me, and _what_ _was_ she?"

Dean starts to answer him, but then turns to Mary, telling her, "We need to get out of here now. Before Anna comes back here."

"Where?" Mary asks. "You said she could find us."

"Then we've got to hide you guys somewhere and put up spells to hide you."

Dean holds his hand out to his sister, helping her gingerly sit up as he carefully looks her over.

She sees the worry and hesitance in his eyes and tells him, "You're right. I'll only slow you down right now. And you absolutely _have_ to get them out of here. Get them somewhere safe."

Sam puffs up, not liking the sound of her words. "What?! We're not leaving you here, Tab. We'll get you out of here, too."

She holds Dean's eyes as he frowns and then looks away, unable to hold her eyes though he knows the truth.

"I don't like splitting up," Dean mutters as he stares at the cement. "Especially not with you hurt."

But they both know by his words that he's not arguing with her that it needs to be done. And they both know the wound isn't likely to be life-threatening. Though it could be if she's forced to fight Anna again in her current shape. Though he's loath to admit it, Dean knows as well as she does that she's more of a hindrance to them than she could possibly be of any help to them now.

"I'll slow you down," Tabitha explains as she turns to her younger brother. "The two of you can get them out of here and keep them safe. That'll be hard enough with you guys trying to keep just two people safe. You can't take on looking after a third person, too. And I can look after myself as long as I'm not heading into the fray."

"Where will you go?" Dean quietly asks, looking back to her as Mary steps over to softly speak with John.

Tabitha immediately sees the suggestion in Dean's eyes and agrees. "I'll go find Cas. If Anna's up and running, maybe Cas will be, too. I'll head back there and see if he can patch me up."

She turns to head Sam's argument off. "You know this is the way it has to be, Sammy. And I can look after myself. You guys just look after them and watch your own backs. Besides," she holds her wrist up to display the blood spattered charms on her wrist, "she can't find me anyway. It's _them_ we need to worry about right now."

Dean watches as she slides to her feet and painstakingly pulls her leather coat back on. She stands without shaking by sheer determination to prove to her brothers that she's truly fine. Only then does Dean step forward, kissing her forehead and pressing his favorite Colt 1911 .45 caliber into her hands as he tells her, "Be careful and call—" He stops when he realizes where they are and that she can't call his cell if something goes wrong.

Before he can change his mind, she takes the nickel-plated pistol and slides it into the waistband at her back, telling him, "I'll be fine. Just make sure you take care of them."

She turns to pull herself into an undamaged pickup in the garage, wincing as she pulls the panel under the steering wheel off to hot-wire the ignition. As she starts the engine and looks up, she sees that Sam has opened the overhead door for her, and she nods to both of her brothers before she begins pulling away.

Her last sight of her parents is the image of Mary's hands moving fast as she speaks to John, her father's hand tangling in his hair as he shakes his head in disbelief at whatever his wife's words are.

* * *

Tabitha is running on fumes as she fumbles with her lock picks trying to open the door to the honeymoon suite. She hadn't thought to grab the key from Dean before they split up and curses the oversight now.

By the time she finally stumbles into the darkened room, she has a momentary panic that Castiel really is up and gone already. But when she flicks the lights on, sighs in both relief and fear when she sees the angel still lying in the middle of the heart-shaped bed. Exactly where she and Dean had left him hours before.

Weaving and unbalanced, she makes her way to the bed, slumping down beside him as she reaches out to roughly shake the angel.

"Cas," she calls to him, lowering her head towards his ear as she shoves his shoulder. "Cas, please wake up. I need your help."

The angel doesn't stir, and Tabitha finds that she doesn't have the strength to attempt rousing him again. Thinking to rest her eyes, she lets her head fall the last few inches to lie on the pillow next to the angel, her body painfully collapsing in a heap next to the still body in the cold trench coat.

Through the troubled sleep and nightmares that flit across her half-consciousness, Tabitha realizes that someone is shaking her shoulder and then pushing it to roll her onto her back.

The resulting pain from her body being roughly reoriented is enough to bring Tabitha fully awake, staring up into the unfocused eyes of Castiel as he struggles to prop himself up on his elbow and look down at her.

His eyes squint at her as if he can't quite see her, almost as though they're hazy and feverish. His hand skims up her side in an uncoordinated manner, stopping at the thick wet bandages around her midsection.

"You're hurt," he slurs in a slow tone. He starts to become more agitated as Tabitha reaches to pull his hand away from her painful side. The angel grips her arm then, unnerving her with the way he looks almost through her, as though stuck in a dream he can't quite wake from as he frantically speaks to her.

"You can't be here while you're hurt. Anna might find you. I have to send you back. I have to send you back to your time with your brothers so they can protect you until I'm able to."

She starts to correct his frantic words to tell him that her brothers are still here, but his hand glows as he shoves her away, light blinding her as pain bursts in her side even as she feels every cell in her body being yanked through time and space.

* * *

Sam and Dean move silently around their room, an air of desolation and hopelessness hanging heavily off them both.

They'd done their best to save their parents—and they had, at least partially. Their parents had survived, but they'd failed to change anything about the past. Their mother had still walked into that nursery when Sam was six months old. She'd still died. Thanks in part to Michael jumping into their father. He'd killed Anna to save their parents, but then, he'd wiped their memories so that nothing had changed. They'd accomplished nothing.

And then the arrogant dick had given Dean a long speech about the inevitability of him saying yes to him in the end. That both he and Sam would say 'yes' and that they had to do it before Tabitha eventually said 'yes' to Azrael. That was before he'd finally healed Sam and sent them both back to the future.

Both brothers had hoped to see their sister when they were returned to their own present time period. But she and Castiel were nowhere to be seen. And neither brother wanted to talk about the possibilities of where she might be or if she was really okay. They both feared actually talking about what might have happened to her. Especially with the strange wound she'd been sporting when they parted. Neither of the brothers knew what the hell the blue light had been, and both feared that it might mean she really wasn't okay.

Instead of brooding and worrying, Dean had gone to the nearest liquor store for a bottle of whiskey to help pass the time while they waited for her, not knowing what else they could possibly do.

Still in heavy silence, Sam unwraps two of the disposable plastic cups from their motel room so that Dean can pour them a drink from the whiskey bottle he unwraps.

As Sam finishes unwrapping the cups, he glances up into the mirror hanging on the wall, gasping when he sees the familiar angel standing behind him with blood once more trickling down his nose.

"Castiel," he exclaims, spinning around towards the angel when he weaves on his feet and grabbing him to steady him. "Hey. Hey, hey. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."

"Cas!" Dean shouts as he too turns to help steady the angel.

"We got you," Sam assures the angel.

Dean sighs a little in relief at seeing the little nerd, telling him, "You son of a bitch. You made it."

"I…" Castiel looks down at his hand in surprise, roughly asking, "I did?"

Then he looks up between the brothers, telling them in an awed voice, "I'm very surprised."

Dean looks around the room then, expecting to see their sister as well, but can't find her anywhere, and doesn't hear her familiar sarcastic rejoinders.

"Where's Tab?" he demands then of the angel. "Where's our sister?"

But even as he asks the questions, the angel goes slack, his body falling limply between the brothers as they struggle to hold him upright.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean exclaims, struggling to help support the unmoving angel.

"Whoa! You're okay," Sam shouts, helping to lift the angel.

"Bed?" Dean asks his brother, seeing that the angel isn't likely to be able to stand on his own two feet anytime soon.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam agrees as they drag the angel over to it.

Dean hesitates over the angel's prone body, shaking him a few times while asking, "Cas? Cas! Where's Tab? Where's our sister."

Seeing that he won't get an answer, he stands to stare down at the unconscious angel, snapping at him, "Do _not_ tell me you _left_ our sister in the 70s, Cas!"

"Do you think she's okay?" Sam asks as they stand at the foot of the bed, staring down at the angel. "I mean, maybe he sent her back to the future but not here," he tries to explain.

Having already considered that, Dean yanks his cellphone from his pocket, waving it in the air as he grits through his teeth, "Don't you think she would have at least called then?"

"Unless she couldn't," Sam whispers.

His older brother's eyes narrow on him as Dean growls, "Don't even say that, Sam. Don't think it. Tab's tough as nails. She's fine. Wherever she is."

"Yeah, but where?"

With a withering sigh, Dean continues to stare down at Castiel. "We're just gonna have to wait until Cas wakes up and can tell us. Or until she shows up. Maybe his aim was off and he sent her further into the future. You know, like tonight or something. We'll just wait here until we know what's what."

After another moment of silence, Dean tells his younger brother, "Well, I could use that drink now."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, definitely feeling the need to imbibe in something to numb his racing emotions.

Dean pours them both a stout class of whiskey, his hand shaking a bit as he tells his brother, "Well…this is it."

"This is what?" Sam asks, bewildered by the comment.

"Team free will," Dean answers, but then adds, "Or will be, once Tab gets her ass back here."

Dean pauses again before turning to face Sam as he explains, "One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with 6 bucks to his name, a former federal agent that keeps disappearing or taking off, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome."

Frowning, Sam points out, "It's not funny."

Dean takes another drink before responding darkly, "I'm not laughing."

Sam sighs at his drink, still staring down at the angel sprawled on the bed. "They all say we'll say 'yes,'" he tells his older brother. "Even Tab from what they say."

"I know," Dean responds in a tight voice. "It's getting annoying."

"What if they're right?" Sam dares to wonder.

Dean pauses in taking another drink to say with assurance, "They're not."

"I mean, w-why—why would we, either of us?" Sam continues to ask, despite his brother's assured tone. "Or Tab either? But…I've been weak before."

Dean starts to interrupt his brother. "Sam…"

"Michael got Dad to say 'yes,'" Sam reminds him.

"That was different. Anna was about to kill Mom."

"And if _you_ could save Mom… What would you say?" He swallows thickly and continues, "Or if we could save Tab from the angels? Or if she could save _us_ from the angels? Don't you think she'd say 'yes' to save us?"

A little smile ticks up the corner of Dean's mouth then, surprising Sam as Dean explains, "Do you _really_ think our sister would say 'yes' to those angels? Because they _tell_ her to? You know our Tabby better than that. When has she _ever_ made things easy for anyone? She can't even make things easy on us and just get her ass back here on time."

Sam laughs a little at that, admitting, "Yeah. I guess you're right about that. But what if _we_ really cansave _her_? I mean, save her from Lucifer and Azrael. What if we can really protect her?"

"What would any of us do?" Dean mutters into his glass before downing the last drop. Despite his reassurances to his little brother, he _does_ wonder what any of them might do, even Tabitha. Wonders to himself just what lengths any of them might really go to to protect each other.

Only time will tell.

* * *

Tabitha blinks against the blinding sunlight the warms her face, raising one hand to shield her eyes from the offending light. She sits up slowly and painfully from the dew-wet pavement she'd been laying on. As she finally pushes to a seated position, she realizes that she's sitting on the cold pavement of a parking lot next to the Impala.

Though her brothers are nowhere to be seen, she can only assume that they are nearby, likely in the motel room the car is parked in front of.

By the time she pulls herself to her feet and makes her way to the door, she feels a little more stable, finally shaking off some of the lingering effects of being hurled through time and space. But she still cusses in exhaustion when there's no answer at her brothers' motel room door, having to fish her lock picks out for a second time to break into a motel room she doesn't have a key for.

Her brothers' clothes are thrown haphazardly around the room, but she can't find anything of her own. Deciding that one of Dean's blue flannel shirts will have to do to replace her own bloody clothes, she snags it and his field medical kit and makes her way to the bathroom.

An hour later, she hears her brothers' voices entering the motel room just as she finishes stitching the wound in her side. Tossing down the bloody needle and scissors, she pulls the purloined shirt over her bra and begins buttoning it as she steps out of the bathroom. She still feels like hell, but the simple act of finally stitching the wound closed makes her feel a bit stronger.

"Glad to know you guys weren't so worried about me that you couldn't go out for dinner," she teases as she fumbles with the first of the buttons at the tail of the shirt, cursing that men's shirts button from the other direction.

Silence meets her, causing Tabitha to stop her attempts at threading the button into the proper hole as she glances up.

Two handguns greet her at eye level, Dean staring hard down the barrel of his Colt 1911 as he demands, "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in our room?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun. :)
> 
> So sorry again for the delays. Holidays are always a killer for free time, and then there's been a bunch of end-of-the-year inventorying and bookwork that's had to take precedence for the company me and my family own. (I absolutely hate the accounting crap, too. That is SO not what I went to college for! And I hate numbers! UGH!)
> 
> Anyway, excuses aside, I finally managed to steal some time to knock this chapter out. (But if anyone asks you, I was doing inventory the WHOLE time. ;) I'm just a slow counter, had to use my fingers and toes.)
> 
> This isn't my favorite chapter, and I think that's part of what took so long to get it done. But I needed to just bite the bullet and do it so I could get to the next one, which should be a lot more fun. :D
> 
> Any guesses as to what's going on? Hmm, what's up with her brothers?
> 
> Hehe.
> 
> And thanks so much to all the loyal reviewers who stick with me even when I take an unexpected absence! I love you all! And I hope the holidays treated everyone well. :)
> 
> And be sure to continue leaving review love! That's what kicks my butt in gear when I'm getting bogged down.


	11. Just Follow the Yellow Brick Road

 

Tabitha snorts at her brothers, but keeps her hands held up in the universal gesture of surrender. When neither of them moves or cracks a smile, she narrows her eyes suspiciously and tells them, "Alright, ha ha, guys. You're hilarious. Now put the damn guns away and tell me where all my shit is. Is it in the car or something?"

Sam and Dean exchange brief looks before Sam tells her, "Your stuff is probably wherever you left it, lady. That doesn't explain what you're doing half-dressed in _our_ room."

Sam lowers his gun a bit as he leans forward to inspect her, and then he turns to Dean, demanding, "Is she some chick you slept with? Is that why she's wearing your shirt?"

Dean leans forward as well, lowering his gun to his waist. He shrugs then as he bites his lower lip and sheepishly admits, "I don't know. Maybe. I don't remember her. And you'd think I would. She's pretty hot, especially wearing my shirt."

"Ewww!" Tabitha exclaims, grossed out by such comments from her own brothers. "That's just _wrong_. This little joke the two of you cooked up has gone way beyond funny into sick territory, guys. So knock it off. You don't say shit like that about your sister. And the only reason I'm wearing Dean's shirt instead of one of yours, Sam, is that I'm not a ten-foot tall Sasquatch."

"'Sister?'" Sam repeats in an incredulous tone, then turns to lower his voice for Dean. "Yup, probably one you slept with. You always have a knack for bagging the crazies."

Sam sputters suddenly as another thought hits him, demanding, "Wait, how'd you even know our names?"

"I do not," Dean protests over his brother's question, then turns to face Tabitha again, waving his hand at her and then the door. "I don't know what game you're playing here, _sister_ ," he says, his tone using the word ironically, "but we've got important work to do and we can't be hampered with a case of the crazies. So, out you go. Run along back to the cuckoo's nest."

An unsettling emotion settles over Tabitha.

"You guys aren't bullshitting me, are you?" she asks in a horrified whisper, her stomach suddenly settling heavily at her feet.

"Uh, no," Sam answers her, exchanging another measured look with Dean.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," she mutters to herself.

Tabitha collapses onto the foot of one of the beds, her hand flying to her side at the pain that shoots across her muscles with the sudden motion.

"How is this possible?" she whispers to herself in a pain-ragged voice. "How could my own brothers not remember me?"

When no answers come to mind, she looks back up at the two men shifting uncomfortably as they stare down at her.

"How can my own brothers not remember me?" she miserably asks them.

Sam seems to decide that she's not a threat and slides his gun back into his waistband, and then he speaks to her in a tone usually reserved for the bereaved or the crazy. "Look, I'm not sure what's going on with you, ma'am, but we're not your brothers. We don't know you. We don't even have a sister." He sighs and then crouches down to bring himself closer to her level as he asks, "Is there someone we can call for you?"

Annoyed by his tone with her, Tabitha glares at her brother and snaps, "Yeah, you can call my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. They were born in Lawrence, Kansas, to John and Mary Winchester. Same as me."

Dean steps forward, clapping a hand on his younger brother's shoulder to yank him back as his gun comes up to train threateningly on her again. "I knew something was off with you," he demands suspiciously. "Who the hell are you, and how do you know our real names and so much about us? Are you a demon?"

To punctuate Dean's angry demands, Sam suddenly produces a flask that he uses to fling a stream of Holy Water at her with.

She blinks and placidly wipes the wetness from her face, bunching her purloined shirt in her hand to mop up the rest from her skin.

"Thanks," she intones with an annoyed nod before suggesting, "You wanna get out a silver knife now, too, just to prove that I'm not a shape-shifter or any other kind of nasty?"

Seeming surprised that the Holy Water has no effect, Dean nods to his brother, telling him, "Better run her through all the tests."

Several minutes later, Tabitha stands once more from the bed, holding a wad of tissues against the shallow cut to her arm from the silver blade.

"See," she triumphantly tells them. "I'm not any kind of nasty."

"Doesn't mean you're our sister," Sam dubiously points out.

Dean snorts an agreement, his Colt 1911 still in his hand though lowered once more to his side. "Yeah, 'cause something like that I'd think we'd remember. And if you know so much about us, you'd know our mother died when Sam was only 6 months old. She didn't have any more kids."

With a droll stare, Tabitha responds, "I was the middle child, idiot. Two years younger than you and two years older than Sammy."

"Don't call me 'Sammy,'" Sam huffs in annoyance.

Before her younger brother can react, Tabitha reaches up to smack him in the back of the head, scolding, "Watch your tone with me. I'm not sure what's going on here, but I'll call you Sammy if I want. Same as I always have."

Sam's mouth hangs open as he rubs the back of his head, torn between feeling incredulous and feeling like a scolded child.

"Dude, you just got smacked by a girl," Dean chuckles.

"I can smack you just as easily," she warns the eldest of the Winchesters.

Sobering with her statement, Dean tells her, "This doesn't prove anything. You're not our sister."

Tabitha eyes the handgun her older brother loosely holds in his hand and slowly reaches for the small of her back. With careful movements, she pulls an identical pistol from her waistband and hands it across to Dean, carefully holding it out to him between her thumb and forefinger.

He takes the gun and hefts it in his left hand glancing between the two pearl-handled guns.

"Okaaayyy," he slowly drawls. "What's this prove? Other than you having great taste in firearms."

She nods towards the one she'd just handed over, directing him, "Take a closer look at it. Take a _good_ look, Dean. It's identical. Down to the tiny scuff marks along the barrel from you shoving it in your waistband all the time and never using a holster, to the small chip in the pearlized handle on the right side of the grip where you hit a vampire over the head when you were 19 and we were hunting a nest outside of San Antonio. Or check out the cut mark along the left side of the barrel where a davea tried to claw the gun out of your hand when you were only 17."

Dean's mouth falls open as he twists and turns both guns in his hands, closely examining every mark to match them up.

Jutting his chin out, he demands from her, "Well, even if I were to believe something as crazy as what you're trying to sell, what are _you_ doing with _my_ gun?"

"You gave it to me when we split up. You were worried because I was hurt," she snaps, pulling the side of the shirt out enough to show the fresh telfa bandage taped to her side.

She steps forward then to take the gun back, but stops when Dean jerks it back out of her reach.

"If you think I'm giving you one of my guns back, you're truly one crazy chick," he tells her, brow raised in challenge.

With her hands on her hips, she considers him. "You still don't trust or believe me."

"You gotta see this from our side," Sam explains at least seeming to give her some credence, despite the unusual nature of the whole situation. "This is one crazy story you're coming to us with," he continues to point out.

"Fine," she agrees. "Then I'll prove it to you even more. What's the date?"

Sam seems surprised at her question, but answers readily, "It's November 13, 2009."

For a moment, she pauses at the answer, surprised that she's actually gone back in time by almost two months. Brushing it off as the less important discrepancy, she steps forward again, noting that Dean tenses, but lets her step until she's nearly toe-to-toe with him. Leaning forward, she whispers, "If I wasn't your sister, how else would I know that you and Anna got together and did a little 'cloud seeding?'" Smiling at the way he jumps in surprise and seemingly a little embarrassment, she continues, "Or that when you were 19, this girl you were seeing got you to try on her panties."

Dean jumps away from her, his face turning red as he demands, "How'd you know all that?"

Smirking and unrepentant, she continues, "They were pink. And satin." Rolling her eyes, at his incredulity, she adds, "When I found them doing laundry and realized they weren't _mine_ , I figured out what had happened."

Sam sees the horror but no denial on Dean's face and begins laughing. Doubling over and reveling in his brother's chagrin, he asks through his laughter, "Dude, you wore women's panties?"

Tabitha steps closer to her younger brother, fighting a grin at the way her stiffens and tensely waits for her to reveal something equally humiliating and horrifying about him.

Refusing to disappoint, she lowers her voice and tells Sam, "And you had your first kiss when you were 15."

While Dean laughs about Sam not having his first kiss until he was 15, Tabitha lowers her voice to add for only Sam's ears, "And she wasn't human, either. She was a kitsune. Amy, right?"

Sam's face goes slack, and barely above a whisper, he asks, "How'd you know that?"

She rolls her eyes again, telling him, "Like I said. I'm your sister."

Both brothers have sobered by this time, their faces pinched as they try to reconcile the possibility in their minds.

"Okay…say we actually did believe this," Dean finally tells her, his mouth turned down in a frown even if he seems to be giving her story consideration. "How is it even possible? How'd you end up here, and why don't we remember you while you remember us?"

"I've been trying to piece that together," Tabitha admits, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I think the answer lies in those guns."

"My guns?" Dean repeats, holding them up at shoulder height, palms turned towards her.

"Yeah," she agrees. "The fact that there's two of them anyway. I don't think this is the…I don't know…universe, or something that I'm from."

"You think you're from another universe," Sam questions, disbelief coloring his tone.

Dean begins moving a bit restlessly around the room, pausing long enough to tell them, "Well, we've seen some pretty strange things, Sammy."

"Exactly," Tabitha agrees, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding at hearing her brother go along with her idea. "I think this is a universe where I don't exist. Like, a parallel universe or something. I mean, actually, it's kinda thrilling to think about from a quantum or theoretical physics standpoint. The possibility has been seriously theorized by some mathematicians and physicists for decades."

"Yeah, but most of the reputable ones would consider it crackpot science," Sam points out.

Tabitha gestures to herself. "Think I'm kinda proof that it's not crackpot science. I mean, how else do you explain me showing up in a universe where I never existed before?"

Dean crosses the room to turn their police scanner onto a low volume. As he walks back, he tells her, "You got me. But I've got a few questions for you. I mean, assuming you really are our sister in some other universe. First, what the hell's your name, and second, how'd you even end up here?"

Blushing when she realizes that she hadn't told them her name—and that they obviously wouldn't know her the way she knows them—she introduces herself. "Tabitha. Tabitha Mary Winchester. But you guys usually call me Tab. Or sometimes Tabby."

"And the other," Dean presses.

She hesitates, but then vaguely says, "Cas screwed up in trying to send me home, I think. We were in the past, and when he tried sending me back into the future, he missed the mark and sent me into the future of the wrong universe."

"So why can't Cas, or at least _our_ Cas just send you to the right universe?"

As if she hadn't thought of it. With a frown, she admits, "I've been silently—and not so silently—praying for him to get his ass here for the past few hours. Called out to him several times before you guys showed up. He isn't answering." She can't say why he hasn't been answering her, whether because something is wrong, or because the Castiel from this universe simply doesn't know her.

Dean scoffs and tells her, "Yeah, probably because he's too busy still trying to find God." His tone leaves little to the imagination as to what his opinion of the endeavor is. Though secretly, Tabitha doesn't disagree with her brother.

"You were in the past? Why?" Sam asks then, moving to sit on the bed and picking up a stake from the floor that he absently begins sharpening.

She tries to place the stake and the room from where they would have been in November, but can't quite remember the hunt. It amazes her how much had happened for her in the past several months.

"We just had to go back into the past," she hedges, not wanting to screw up their universe by telling them things that far into their future.

Both brother's catch her evasive answer and halt their movements.

Dean demands, "Why? What happened that you needed to go into the past? Should we expect to be headed into the past, too?"

With a slight shake, she tells them, "Not for a few months yet. I came from the beginning of 2010 before Cas sent us into the past and then sent me here to this universe."

"So you know what we're hunting here right now?" Sam asks, his knife pausing against the end of the stake.

She gives the room another probing glance. "Yeah. I guess. I just can't remember which hunt this is. This room is a lot filthier than I usually let you guys keep a place."

Before one of her brothers can explain where they are, they hear an unsteady voice come across the police scanner.

" _Uh, dispatch? I got a possible one-eight-seven out here at the old paper mill on route six._ "

As Dean turns up the volume, another voice answers, " _Roger that. What are you looking at, son?_ "

" _Honestly, Walt, I wouldn't even know how to begin to describe what I_ _'_ _m seeing. Just, um, send everybody._ "

" _Alright, stay calm. Stay by your car. Help_ _'_ _s on the way,_ " the dispatcher answers.

"Sounds like him," Dean tells Sam, popping to his feet and grabbing a few sharpened stakes from a table near the door.

He pauses as Sam grabs his coat and a few stakes as well to tell Tabitha, "Look, you just stay here while we handle this, and then we'll figure out how to handle your situation later. We're not letting this guy get away."

"He might be able to help us, Dean," Sam mutters under his breath.

Tabitha tucks the baggy shirt into her jeans, ignoring the dried blood hardening them in places as she jogs after her brothers.

"No way," she argues. "I'm not letting you guys run off on your own. You're my brothers. Even if you don't know _me_."

Dean stops at the driver's door, turning to and pointing back towards their motel as he tells her, "Whatever. Like you said, you were hurt to begin with. So you're staying back. You're not going up against the Trickster playing hurt."

Her mouth falls open as she remembers and places it all finally. "Shit. That's where we are?" She laughs and before Dean can stop her, yanks one of the Colt's from his waistband, tucking it into her jeans as she climbs into the backseat.

"Shut up and drive," she tells her brother, smiling at the thought of seeing Gabriel again. "Maybe I can get out of here yet."

"You think the Trickster will help?" Dean asks, letting out a dark chuckle. "Sister, you're gonna be disappointed, 'cause I plan on killing that douche."

Under her breath, she snorts, "Dean, you ain't got a clue what you're after."

* * *

Tabitha follows her brothers through the very déjà vu scenario of being thrown into TV Land, watching as her older brother secretly fangirls over the appearance of "Dr. Sexy" when he appears, walking towards them down the hospital hallway.

The faux "Dr. Sexy" greets all three of them with the disingenuous greetings of "Doctor." But when he glances at her with an intrigued look, Tabitha grins and steps closer to him, saying, "You know, usually I can't stand watching a rerun, but in your case, I'll make an exception. I seem to remember that you had some _God-_ given talents."

Still grinning at his narrowed gaze, she grabs the lapels of his white lab coat, yanking on them to bring his lips down to hers. He only hesitates for a moment, and then as though not to disappoint her, twists and dips her back in the same manner he had once before, proving that his talent hadn't been a figment of her imagination the first time around.

When he lifts away from her this time though, he keeps her dipped backwards, staring down curiously into her eyes. She sees no recognition in them, only a puzzled look.

"That is not cool!" she hears Dean exclaiming in the background. "If you really are our sister, you don't go around tonguing dudes like that! Famous or not!"

She ignores her brother's outburst, grinning up at the errant angel as she whispers in greeting, "Hello, Gabriel."

The angel's face falls as he jerks her back up to her feet, snapping his fingers. The sudden movement sends a rush of pain through her side, and she grips the fresh stitches as they throb painfully.

Tabitha suddenly finds her brothers gone and herself standing with Gabriel—not the faux-Dr. Sexy—inside the warehouse they'd entered minutes before she and her brothers had fallen into TV Land.

Arms crossed over his chest, Gabriel demands, "Start talking, sister."

Despite the sudden resurgence of pain in her side, Tabitha enjoys the feeling of keeping the angel off-balance and confused. Unable to resist, she smirks as she answers, "What? I thought you were the all-powerful Trickster." Leaning forward, she tacks on, "You a little unnerved to find someone who knows all about you and your personal witness relocation program from your feuding brothers?"

"What…who told…how do you know all that?" he sputters, arm crossing defiantly over his leather jacket.

"Actually," she chuckles, " _you_ told me all that. Or rather, you in another universe. I think." She shrugs, still trying not to think about the details of other universes too hard. "I'm not really sure how all this works."

Gabriel drops his arms and circles around her. It almost wouldn't surprise Tabitha if he leaned in to sniff her like a dog. But he only stops again in front of her.

"How'd you get to this universe then?" he asks.

The grin slips a little from her face. Tabitha had been almost certain she was in a different universe, but somehow, having an archangel confirm that it is indeed a possibility does nothing to comfort her. A part of her had still been holding out for the whole thing to be some strange dream.

With a little cough to clear her throat, Tabitha admits in a soft voice, "One word: Castiel."

This seems to surprise the archangel. At least from the way he leans back from her.

"Little Cassie boy? Why'd he send you to another universe?"

She snorts. "I doubt it was on purpose. He was just trying to return me from the past. Apparently he missed the mark and I ended up here."

Under his breath, Gabriel comments, "That's a pretty big miss." He straightens and returns his attention to her, sizing her up as he says, "From what the wonder twins said, I take it you're supposed to be their sister in this other world, right?"

She nods, and he makes an encouraging hand gesture, telling her, "Well, out with the story. Let's hear it all."

Figuring she has nothing to lose, and has the possibility of getting the archangel to send her back to her world again, Tabitha tells him the whole story. Only leaving out small, unnecessary details about her complicated history with Castiel.

At the end, Gabriel lets out a low whistle. "Little brother really screwed up," he comments.

"Great," she huffs in aggravation. "I already knew that. What I'm more interested in is seeing if you can get me the hell out of here. Send me back to where I belong."

"No such luck, sister."

Her eyes narrow on the archangel, thinking the fun-loving, wannabe trickster is messing with her. When she doesn't see the hint of a smile or amusement, she demands, "Why not?"

He rolls his eyes as though his answer should be as clear as the nose on her face. "Because I don't know where you came from. So I'd probably end up sending you to yet another wrong universe."

"So, what? I'm screwed. I'm just stuck here in some universe where I don't exist and my own brothers don't even know me?"

"Looks like, sister," he agrees, seeming completely unsympathetic.

He seems to finally notice the way she holds her side however, and gestures impatiently in the area of her midsection.

"What's this about?" he asks.

Figuring that he might know something about her wound, she untucks and lifts her shirt, briefly explaining that she'd been stabbed by an angel blade and the strange blue light that came out of the wound.

Gabriel stalks closer to her at that, reaching out and ripping the telfa pad away from her skin.

At the pain, she gasps and cries, "Sonfoa…"

His hand clamps over the red skin and line of stitches.

"Ooo-wee," he clucks amid dark laughter. "Little Cassie is gonna be in truhb-uhl," he sings.

"What? Why?" she asks, confused by his assertion and not knowing what it has to do with her wound.

"You're barking up the wrong angel, girl," he informs her, pulling his hand from her side. "You want answers, better talk to feather-brains and ask _him_ just what he was thinking."

Realizing that he must be referring to the charm Castiel gave her—and talking in circles around it, just like all the other angels have been—she mutters, "I wish just one of you could give a straight answer."

When Gabriel steps back from her, Tabitha gasps again. This time in surprise, rather than pain. Despite his evasiveness, Gabriel had healed her wound. She softens a bit at his aid, but still can't seem to fully warm her heart to him again when he seems completely uninterested in helping her.

The pair stands staring at each other as the minutes tick by. Before Tabitha can stop him, Gabriel shrugs and turns away.

Over his shoulder, he tells her, "Well, you're stuck here now, and I need to get back to dumb and dumber. I don't want to miss the show." He pauses to look at her again, and then holds his hand up in the air. "No reason you can't join in on the fun."

With that, he snaps his fingers, sending her back into TV Land.

* * *

Tabitha sits on the tall stool with her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, refusing to participate.

When the host leans forward to prompt her again, she angrily snaps, "I'm not playing this ridiculous game. Send me back to that stupid 'Fear Factor' knock-off or come up with something new. I'm sick of these stupid reruns."

Before the host—of course, yet another doppelgänger of Gabriel, just like all the contestants—can prod her again to take part in the game, a body hurls across the stage.

The host and contestants don't seem very interested in the occurrence, but Tabitha cautiously stands from her seat.

When a familiar trench coat wearing angel moans and rolls over on the stage floor, Tabitha runs to his side.

"Cas, are you all right?" she asks worriedly.

As she kneels to help the angel sit up, she can't help but sigh at the confused looks that greets her.

"Who are you?" he asks, struggling to regain his footing, but failing as he slumps back to the ground.

She gives him a once over, noting that he looks a little worse for wear from Gabriel flinging him around TV Land, but he still appears miles better than he had when she'd last lain eyes on her own version of him.

"Tabitha. Tabitha Winchester. Not that it really matters who I am right now," she sighs, wiping a small trickle of blood from his nose.

He glances down at the red staining her fingers, gingerly touching where she'd wiped the blood from his skin.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks him again. "I may have seen you looking worse recently, but Gabriel still knocked you for a loop."

His eyes widen as he stares at her.

"You know Gabriel?"

"Yeah," she sighs, weary with everyone reacting in surprise to everything she says. "I know you from another universe, too. But that's not really the point right now. I'd rather find a way to get your brother to stop this ridiculous game of his."

She stands, using both hands to tug Castiel to his feet, and still holding one of his hands, tugs him along as she goes to confront the host of the dumb dating game show the archangel had been trying to force her into playing again.

"Gabriel, this is enough. We need to talk."

Suddenly, the contestants all morph together with the host, leaving her facing just one Gabriel. Either he's gotten bored with her refusal to play the game or he realizes from her voice that she's serious.

"You rang," he drolly intones, arms crossed as he examines his fingernails in boredom.

"Come on," she implores him. "This game of yours has gone on long enough. And I've already been through it in my universe. So I'm speaking from experience here when I tell you that you trying to teach my brothers a lesson isn't going to work. So why don't you give up and just let us all go."

Gabriel thoughtfully rubs his chin, looking between her and Castiel. Realizing that she's still holding the other angel's hand, she opens her fingers and starts to tug her hand back from Castiel who is still standing behind her. Her hand goes nowhere, and she glances over her shoulder when the angel clamps his hand tighter over hers, refusing to relinquish his grip.

By the time she turns back to Gabriel, there's a little grin playing on his face as he continues to stroke his chin.

Finally, he leans forward, conspiratorially telling her, "No. And better yet, I've decided to change channels."

Though she darts forward, reaching out with her free hand to grab him, Gabriel snaps his fingers and disappears before she can touch him.

The scenery is suddenly changed. Instead of the television study and dating game show, Tabitha finds herself sitting backwards in the front of a rowboat, Castiel sitting on a bench in the rear of the boat facing her.

"What the hell?" she mutters, looking around the expanse of water surrounding them. Great trees spring out of the water nearly as far as she can see, and beautiful white ducks swim lazily across the glassy surface, weaving around lily pads and seeming totally unconcerned by their presence. The trees and water remind her of the bayou lakes and waters of the south, but she can't quite place why it seems so familiar.

Looking back to the stupefied angel across from her, Tabitha asks, "You wanna get us out of here? I don't fancy hanging out here on the water and waiting for mosquitos to pick us off."

With a look of utter concentration, the angel across from her closes his eyes.

"Performance anxiety?" she asks when nothing happens.

Whether he understands the reference or is embarrassed with his lack of results, Castiel admits sheepishly, "I can't seem to overcome Gabriel's wards in this reality to use my powers."

Tabitha's eyes travel up and down the angel as she comments under her breath, "I guess I wasn't far off with the impotence joke."

Louder, she tells him as she gestures to the paddles trailing lazily in the water, "Well, let's at least get off this water and see if we can't figure out where we are and what your brother is up to."

Castiel hesitantly places his hands on the ends of the wooden paddles, but doesn't move any further as he stares at them, as though willing them to row on their own.

Awkwardly, he tries pulling the ends of the paddles towards himself, causing the wide end of the paddles to skip across the top of the water, spraying Tabitha with a sheet of icy water.

Dripping and gasping in surprise, she swipes the wetness from her face, staring accusingly at the angel as she counts slowly to ten in her head.

"Maybe _I_ should paddle," she suggests, the calmness in her voice belying her inner emotions. She notes the way the angel cringes in embarrassment at the sight of her wringing water from her shirt.

But he doesn't argue with her suggestion, and they both stand to change positions in the boat. After them both nearly ending up in the water, they manage to reposition themselves in the small rowboat.

Castiel sits uselessly on the front bench, frowning at her as she begins rowing with far more ease than his failed attempt.

"Ask," she tiredly commands when she gets annoyed by him frowning at her. She can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out her place in all this. Distant thunder begins to rumble as the sky darkens, so Tabitha renews her vigor in paddling, hoping to get to some sort of destination before they are caught in a storm and become the stars in some twisted version of "Cast Away" in Gabriel's little TV Land.

Across from her, the angel surprises her by asking, "How did you get that charm?"

She hesitates for a moment, but then tells him simply, "You."

Instead of surprise or denial, he only asks, "How?"

For some reason, she finds _herself_ surprised that he seems so accepting of the whole strange situation.

"Like I said before," she begins, glancing over her shoulder as she rows, not really knowing where she's going, but aiming for a shoreline and a building she can see in the distance. "I'm from another universe or whatever. And the Cas from my universe gave it to me."

They paddle in silence again, but Tabitha shrugs off the angel's withdrawn response as he frowns, staring into the bottom of the boat.

As the boat steadily approaches the building she'd spotted earlier, she can finally make out a dock jutting out from the shoreline, and is able to see that the building is a grand, three story, Southern-styled mansion. It seems familiar somehow, but her attention is drawn away from it as Castiel shifts across from her and lowly grumbles to himself.

"Why would I give such power to some human?"

"'Some human?'" she repeats, the paddles trailing across the top of the water as she stares incredulously at the angel. "I'm not 'some human,' you know. For starters, I'm a Winchester, too. And for another, you and me…you know…we were…are…close."

"How do you know Gabriel, and why has he trapped me with _you?_ "

She resumes paddling, her strokes taking on an angry stabbing motion to the water as she propels the boat closer to the dock and the promise of land and some distance from the angel that seems intent on infuriating her more by the second.

Lip curling, she snaps, "Jesus, you say that like there's something wrong with being stuck here with _me_. Like _I_ did something wrong or I'm some kinda leper."

The boat glides smoothly next to the dock, and Tabitha quickly ties the boat off before hopping out onto the dock, the sounds of rolling thunder increasing threateningly overhead.

Partway down the dock, she finally glances back to see where the angel is, and groans when she realizes he's stuck in the boat, trying to figure out how to get out without tipping the rowboat and dumping himself into the water.

Grumbling to herself, she walks back and holds out her hand.

"Here," she huffs in annoyance, pulling him up onto the dock before he can tip the boat over and end up taking an unintended bath.

Tabitha attempts to release Castiel's hand as she turns away, but the angel grips it tighter, pulling her back to face him as he once more demands, "How did you end up here?"

Through her grinding teeth, Tabitha tells him again, " _You_."

He does look surprised this time. He seems more surprised to find out that he'd sent her to another universe than he'd been to find out that he'd given her the charm everyone seems so intent on being mysterious about.

"You sent me here. Although, I'm pretty sure it was an accident. You had meant to just send me back to the future of my world."

He finally releases her hand and steps around her, looking her up and down as he asks, "You say you are a Winchester?"

"Yeah," she sighs, turning with the angel when she gets fed up with his shark circling routine. "Apparently I don't exist in this universe, but I'm Sam and Dean's sister where I'm from."

His hand darts out again, capturing her wrist once more as he examines the bracelet—most specifically the angel wing charm her own Castiel had given her.

"You don't appear special or unique in any way that would warrant such protection," he mutters to himself. "Just an ordinary human."

Yanking out of his grip again, she snaps, "Gee. Thanks. I'd really forgotten what a bigoted asshole you can be, you know it, Cas? At least I'm not totally useless without angelic powers."

He looks surprised at her offense. Even going so far as to plainly tell her, "I don't understand your anger. I am merely stating a fact. I fail to see anything special about you. Sam and Dean are important because the fate of the apocalypse rests in their hands, but you…you're just a human." Under his breath, he adds, "An acerbic one at that."

"'Acerbic?'" she scoffs in disbelief. "I'm acerbic, huh? Well let me tell you in my acerbic manner to _kiss my ass_!" She spins on her heel, stalking down the dock once more.

The water-smoothed boards sway and bounce as she feels Castiel jog behind her to catch up, grabbing her arm to spin her around. Crashing thunder erupts loudly overhead as a rush of rain begins to fall, but Tabitha momentarily ignores it, allowing the angel to spin her around and even stepping towards him as she roughly shoves at his shoulder, knocking him back a step.

"I'm only trying to ascertain why I would go to such trouble to protect a human like you," he tells her, frowning as he glances down to his shoulder where she'd shoved him.

"You'd have to ask your counterpart in my universe, I guess. I'm just some nothing human," she snaps, trying in vain to hold her hands over her face to shield herself from the rain running down into her eyes.

Giving up on the futile attempt to divert the torrents of water streaming down her skin, she drops her arms. Seeing the way the angel seems unaffected by the rain, and still awaiting a better answer from her, she softly admits, "I don't know why you gave me the damn charm." Her eyes trail down to the bracelet as she fingers the still warm charm and object of such cryptic debate. "I didn't really know it was anything special when you gave it to me. You never told me what it was. Just asked me to wear it. It's only been recently that I've been starting to put together the reactions of some of the other angels to realize you did something…big…or important to it. You saying now that it's for protection or something…is the most I've really heard about what the thing is."

"I can only guess that it was given to protect you," he corrects. "The question remains: Why would I give such…power, to a mere human?"

She doesn't look up at Castiel, instead, keeps her head dipped down as the rain races down her cheeks and chin. Though she's unable to admit it aloud, her pride takes a hit at his comments, and a buried fear swims to the surface, the one that constantly asks her, _Why me? Why am_ I _special to Castiel? To an angel. I'm just…human._ She knows why he's special to her. But a deep-seated part of her has always wondered what an angel could possibly see in her.

Barely above a whisper, she carefully explains, "I still can't say why you gave it to me. We were friends in my universe. More than that even. We've been…lovers…for some time now."

A loaded silence follows. Unable to resist the urge, Tabitha risks the rain to glance up, catching sight of the angel as he stares at her in shock, looking like a feather could knock him off the dock.

Seeing her gaze on him, he asks in a halting voice, "Lovers…as in…sexual…intercourse?"

Tabitha rolls her eyes at the high-pitched squeak his voice elevates to.

Snarkily, she throws back, "No. As in lovers of scrapbooking. We're making one right now. We're gonna call it, 'Apocalypse: Misunderstood Biblical Event.'" Her hands find her hips as her tone hardens. "Yeah. I'm talking sex here, Cas. What the hell do you think I mean?"

His eyes widen even more. Lowly, he says, "I can't fathom why I would choose to…bed…a woman like you."

Throwing a single fingered gesture his direction, she shouts, "You know what, go screw _yourself_ , Cas!" And then spins on her heel again as she stomps towards the large white house she'd seen further up the hill from the shoreline, still nursing her wounded pride.

She doesn't recognize the house fully until she is under the overhang and yanking the screen door open to step inside the house, but then, the interior finally jogs her memory.

"Goddamn you, Gabriel! You think you're real funny, don't you?" she groans, realizing what movie he'd "changed channels" to. "I'd have way rather ended up in the freakin' 'Cast Away' with just Wilson to keep me company than in the freakin' 'Notebook!'"

The screen door squeaks behind her as Castiel steps in out of the rain as well.

Spinning to face him, she continues in accusing tones, "This is your fault somehow. Why the hell else would he change things up this time and throw us into 'The Notebook'?"

Castiel looks around in confusion. "We are in a house," he states in a careful tone.

She rolls her eyes. "No. 'The Notebook.' You know, the freakin' tear-feast, ultimate chick-flick romance movie. Based on the entirely too sappy book, 'The Notebook.'"

The angel frowns at her. "I don't understand. Are we in a notebook, a movie, or a book?"

Slapping her forehead, she groans, "You know what? Forget it."

She moves away from him, kicking out of her boots with loud thumps as she crosses into the living room where she crouches to examine the darkened fireplace.

As she sets about looking for matches and kindling to light the wood already laid out in the fireplace, she pauses to ask the quiet angel watching her from the entrance of the room, "Don't suppose you've strapped your wings on yet?"

His frown deepens. "I don't understand your question."

"Your powers," she huffs. "Are you still juiceless? Any chance you could light this thing?" she asks, gesturing to the wood.

"My powers are still inaccessible."

"Great," she mutters, feeling blindly along the top of the mantle in the hopes of finding a lighter or matches. "Stupid angel still can't get it up. Maybe he should try drinking a Red Bull."

"Ah-ha!" she exclaims, finally finding a tin box on the mantle with matches and another larger one nearby with some kindling.

Once a fire is finally glowing in the fireplace, Tabitha stands, and still ignoring the angel, begins stripping her wet shirt and jeans off to hang from the mantle.

Though she leaves her bra and underwear on, she hears Castiel cough and make fretting noises behind her.

"What are you doing?" he finally asks, his voice taking on that nervous squeak again.

"Letting my clothes dry. Wet jeans chafe like a mother…"

At his silence, she turns around, noting the way his gaze darts uncomfortably around the room.

Gesturing to her black lacy bra and boy short underwear, she points out, "This covers more than some swim suits I've had. So grow up and act like the many thousand year old angel you are instead of a thirteen year old boy that just got caught with his mother's lingerie catalog."

When he still stands awkwardly in the entryway of the room, she waves him towards the fire. "At least come stand closer to the flames so your clothes have a chance of drying if you're not going to take them off and hang them up."

He edges closer, but keeps a more than modest distance between them. Huffing her annoyance, Tabitha turns to pick up a blanket, swinging it easily around her shoulders as she tells him, "I'm gonna go explore this place. Got nothing better to do until Gabriel gets tired of his little game." Under her breath, she adds, "Or until my idiot brothers finally figure things out."

She hears him enter into the bedroom behind her sometime later.

"What are you looking at?" he asks.

Not turning, she shrugs and taps the glass of the window she'd been leaning against for the past hour. "Just watching the rain taper off. It's prettier than I realized…the rain falling out on the water like that."

She feels him step further into the room, and pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Castiel clears his throat and tells her, "If I offended you before, I am… I was merely trying to determine how you came to have that…charm."

Sighing, she derisively adds, "You mean why some no account human like me has it, right?"

Castiel huffs briefly, and then she hears, _Gabriel! Enough of your games. I know it's you. Release me from this place. I tire of this human's company._

The windows under Tabitha's fingers rattle with the force of Castiel's "real" voice calling out to his brother, and Tabitha winces at the high-pitched sound that accompanies it.

"Turn it down a notch," she growls, rubbing at her ear and grimacing. "Gabriel isn't going to do anything just because you ask or tell him to, so you might as well accept that we're stuck here for now. Even if you can't stand _this human_ 's company."

Castiel strides over to her, stopping in front of her as she leans sideways against the window.

"You can hear me?" he incredulously demands.

"Yep," she answers with a short popping sound, still looking out the window, barely able to see the water now that darkness has set in.

She can feel his eyes on her, so she turns to observe him assessing her with new eyes.

"Can you hear all angels?" he almost timidly asks.

With a shrug, she tells him, "When they're nearby and talking like that. I can't hear all angels all the time though. Thank God for that."

"Is that what makes you different? Or have I protected you in your universe for your brothers' sakes?"

She opens her mouth to snap back at him that hearing angels doesn't make her special, but quickly closes it. Suddenly realizing that she can't say _why_ exactly she was so special that she had to be watched so closely, even before Castiel knew she could hear angels. Long before they'd even begun sleeping together. Though she does think that affected a lot of it as well.

As she looks away, she physically withdraws as well, climbing up to sit cross-legged on the nearby bed as she tells him, "It's more likely that it all started—even you watching over me before my brothers and I knew anything about angels—because I'm Azrael's vessel."

Castiel stiffens where he stands by the window, his face becoming a closed off mask again.

"You are Azrael's vessel?" he asks in a hushed, worried tone.

She nods once.

He seems almost frightened to say anything in return to her.

"Look, not that this hasn't been fun and all," she finally tells him, "but is there _any_ possible way that you can send me back to my world?"

"I don't know," he quietly admits, returning from his thoughts about Azrael.

"I know you can't right now what with Gabriel playing his stupid games, but I mean later. Can you send me back after we get out of here?"

Castiel glances up, sadly meeting her eyes as he repeats, "I don't know."

Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. "You mean I might _really_ be stuck here? Like, forever?"

The angel moves closer, cautiously sitting on the edge of the bed near her as he explains, "There are many universes out there. All are strongly interconnected, but finding the right one might prove impossible." His words echo Gabriel's, but she'd wanted to believe that Castiel could still send her back.

Frowning, she asks a question that has been on her mind for some time, "If there's all these universes out there, and they're all connected, how is it that I don't exist in this one? I mean, Azrael must exist in this one from your earlier reaction, but not me?"

He searches for the right explanation. "They are not all identical. Even if they are all dependent on each other. They mirror each other. But smaller details can be and _are_ very different."

"So the Apocalypse might be successfully diverted in one but not another? Or even better yet, could there be one where it was never triggered to begin with?"

To her dismay, he shakes his head in the negative. "No. Such events are what link each of these, worlds, as you say, irrevocably. They are almost like…chain reactions. With such great events…when it happens in one, it is destined to happen across them all."

"So no luck on you just trying to find me the world where the Apocalypse is unheard of and I'm happily married to someone like Brad Pitt or Channing Tatum?"

"I don't know these people," he answers with a frown.

After a few minutes pass, Castiel softly consoles, "I'm sorry you are stuck in this world. And I'm sorry if my…questions offended you. Dean…your brother says I must work on my 'people skills.'"

A small smile begins at that. Spreading into a soft chuckle as she teases, "You don't say? That just shocks me."

Sobering, she apologizes as well, "I shouldn't have gotten so upset with you, either. It's…strange to be stuck suddenly in a world where I don't exist and no one knows me. I forget how much things between you and I changed from the time I first met you until now. And I guess that I'm just a little on the defensive because of all this."

"This is an apology?" he carefully asks, as though unsure of what one even is.

"Yeah," she laughs. "That was an apology."

They sit silently next to each other before Castiel clears his throat, breaking the stillness.

"Why did we become…"

"Lovers?" she fills in, guessing the nature of his question from his unease.

He nods, looking like a deer about to bolt in the forest. Or like he's about to swallow his own tongue.

Suddenly aware that they're both sitting next to each other on a bed, and that she's wearing only a blanket pulled over her underwear, she coughs and nervously answers, "Well, it's not like we just started out that way. I'm not even sure how to explain how it happened. We were friends first. We spent a lot of time together. Talking about what was going on in our lives, our triumphs and failures in trying to stop those damn seals from breaking." She pauses as she tries to think back over the long months since their relationship had so drastically changed.

In a small voice, she explains, "You're still one of my closest friends. The only one I can get furious with and can get furious with me, and we still forgive each other, because no matter how furious we are with each other…you're always there for me when it matters most. And I try to always be there for you, even if you don't always understand my actions. We became more than friends, sure, but…I think underneath it all…that's still the most important part. That we're friends through it all."

Castiel's voice comes out barely above a saddened whisper as he stares at his hands. "I've never had a friend like you speak of."

Spurred on by the hurt laced in his soft admission, Tabitha reaches across to grip one of Castiel's hands. Softly, she assures him, "I may not exist in this world, but in whatever world I do exist, I'm certain you can still name me as that kind of friend."

"Angels are not supposed to develop such attachments to humans," he almost regretfully informs her.

The familiar words bring a grin to her face, causing her to lift her other hand to cup the angel's cheek.

"I know," she chuckles, smiling at the way Castiel's eyes drift shut as he leans into her open palm, like a man starved for the feeling of another's touch. "You've told me before," she finishes.

Before reason can reassert itself to tell her why it's a bad idea, Tabitha leans in, ever so softly brushing her lips across Castiel's.

He jumps as if he'd been touched by a live wire, his eyes shooting open. But just as Tabitha pulls away from the soft touch of her lips to his, he yanks her back, hands gripping her arm as he slides one hand to splay across the back of her neck.

His kiss is both familiar and different against her lips. Like navigating a trail you've been over before as a child, but discovering it anew, as though for the first time since climbing the great heights of the Alps or Everest and seeing it with whole new eyes.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," Gabriel's voice booms out, along with a slow, exaggerated clapping.

Tabitha tears away, spinning to see Gabriel standing in the center of a ring of Holy Fire. The warehouse again their familiar backdrop. Her eyes dart beyond him to see her brothers standing on the other side of the flames, their mouths hanging open in shock as they stare across at her.

She glances down, heaving a sigh of relief for the small mercy that she's at least no longer clad only in a blanket and her underwear.

Despite the stares of her brothers—and the knowing grin and waggling eyebrows of Gabriel—Tabitha nonchalantly makes her way to where her brothers stand.

"Were you just making out with Cas?" Dean demands in the stunned silence.

Still unable to tell her brothers the truth—even in another world—Tabitha mutters, "It was one of Gabriel's TV Land things. We were stuck in 'The Notebook.' We had to play along. Just like you guys."

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Dean warily eyeing Castiel as the angel approaches his trapped brother, but luckily, Castiel gives nothing away in his expression.

Under his breath, Dean informs Tabitha, "If you really are our sister, we've gotta have a talk about all the dudes you've been kissing." He snorts and adds, "Or rather, angels."

His eyes narrow on her as he tacks on, "And if I catch either of those angels even so much as looking sideways at you, I'm gonna start plucking some feathers."

Tabitha laughs a little nervously as she shifts from foot to foot, telling her brother, "Why would they? I'm just some human."

She falls back a step as her brothers confront Gabriel. There's nothing more she can ask the archangel for—not after having already been assured by him that he can't return her to her world—so she silently hangs back until her brothers leave the warehouse.

Strangely, Castiel waits in the doorway for her as she turns back to look one last time at Gabriel. Unable to simply walk away from him without a word, she calls out, "See ya, Gabriel. It's been…something. But I still think you should go find your girl, Kali. I mean, if the world's really gonna end, do you want to spend it being too chicken to at least tell her how you really feel about her?"

Gabriel's eyes widen comically as she leaves him amidst the dying flames of his entrapment, wondering to himself how she could possibly know about his thing for the goddess.

Meeting her brothers at the Impala, she asks them, "Now what? My hopes of Gabriel sending me back to my world were dashed, and even Cas here says he can't send me back to the right world. So what do I do now?"

Dean shifts nervously from foot to foot for a moment before stepping forward to wrap an awkward but brotherly arm over her shoulders. But his voice is soft and kind as he assures her, "Look, I really don't think you were lying about being our sister. So, me and Sammy…we'll do everything we can to help you get back to your world if it's possible. And if not, then being stuck here can't be so bad. We'll look out for you."

She smiles a little, telling him, "If it's anything like living with you guys in _my_ world, what that really means is me looking out for you two bird-brains and picking up after all your messes. And doing your laundry half the time 'cause I'm sick of the smell. Or getting you out of your half-planned messes when you get into trouble."

Dean grins as he turns to climb into the Impala, enthusiastically telling her, "Sounds damn near perfect to me."

* * *

After a week spent researching in their motel, the Winchesters are still unable to find any concrete way or plan for sending Tabitha back to her own world.

And though she appreciates the efforts her brothers have gone to to make her feel comfortable with them, it's been awkward all the way around.

Dean and Sam both try their best to behave how a stereotypical older or younger brother should towards their sister, but in the end, all it does is make her melancholy for her own brothers, or more often, pissed off with their dictatorial behavior.

"Dammit, Tabitha Mary Winchester," Dean growls when she enters their motel room, "I told you not to take off on your own like that."

Tabitha grabs a towel from their bathroom, mopping the sweat from her face, and stretching after her morning run. Balling up the sweaty towel, she chucks it at her older brother's head, snapping at him, "First of all, _Dad_ , I'm not 12 years old anymore. I can go out for a morning run without asking for your permission." She squares off with this world's angry Dean with hands on her hips. "And second of all, the only person that gets to three-name me like that now that Mom and Dad are both dead, is Bobby. _So stop trying to act like I'm a child! I'm barely two years younger than you!_ " she shouts, the last shred of her composure cracking.

Trying to play peacekeeper, Sam interjects, "Look, Tabitha, Dean and I were just worried about you when we woke up and you were gone. It's dangerous out there, and you shouldn't be out on your own like that. You might get hurt."

As annoying as Dean's protective attempts are, her younger brother's attempts at peacekeeping and his own protective streak irate her even more.

"Zip it, Sammy," she growls. Waving her hands at them both and then herself, she asks, "What about me saying that I've hunted damn near my whole life, too, have you guys forgotten? Just because I went for a run by myself, doesn't mean I'm suddenly gonna become demon-bait or forget everything I know about all the shit that's out there."

"We're just trying to look out for you," Dean grumbles, plopping back onto one of the unmade beds as he picks up the laptop in front of him, eyes on the screen as he returns to researching.

"Maybe we should head to Bobby's," she finally suggests, unsure even to herself if involving Bobby is a good idea or a bad one. But at least at Bobby's place, there would be more room to get away from Sam and Dean when they continue to stomp all over her last nerve. And then do the hokey-pokey on it.

"I'm not sure springing this on Bobby is a good idea," Sam says, echoing her thoughts with annoying clarity. That much is no different between the Sam of this world and hers. Continuing on, he carefully explains, "I mean, we've come to accept your story, but how can we be sure Bobby will? Let's just keep researching…give it another week or so, and if we still can't find anything, then we'll get Bobby involved."

"Fine," she huffs, heading for the door again. Deciding that she's still not ready to put up with Sam and Dean, version 2.0. In her mind, just like with every great movie and their remakes, the original is always better.

"Where do you think you're going now?" Dean demands, sitting up from the bed he'd been reclining against.

"For a cool down walk and a smoke. That all right, Dad?" she tosses over her shoulder, not waiting for his reply as she slams the door behind her over his sputtered answer.

Two cigarettes later—which she directly blames her return to smoking on her parallel-world brothers—she's finally calm enough to admit that her brothers are just trying to adjust to her sudden existence in their lives and world. And they've dropped everything else to help her look for a way back. Most of her annoyance is with the fact that they can't seem to make any headway, and the thought that she might really be stuck in this world. She'd never realized before how much she missed the way her Dean walked the fine line of being protective older brother, and older brother that stood beside her getting into the same trouble she was. Or even the way her Sam both came to her for help and guidance as his older sister, and tried so hard to make her proud of him.

Flicking the last cigarette away, she tries to look on the bright side, telling herself, "Well, at least if I don't exist in this world, that means I was never wanted by the FBI here and don't have to worry so much about being caught by the police or something." It's a cold comfort.

She leans back against the chilly brick wall in the alleyway next to their motel, closing her eyes as she laments, "But it's no trade for having _no one_ really know who I am."

Her eyes spring open as she feels Castiel appear before her, eagerly asking him, "Have you found any way for me to get back yet?"

His head swings once from side to side as her emotions plummet once more.

"Dammit," she hisses to herself.

"I'm sorry," Castiel regretfully whispers.

"Maybe it's time for more drastic measures," she wonders aloud. Her desperation has been growing by the day.

Though her eyes had fallen shut again, Tabitha can still feel the way the angel tenses.

"What measures?" he asks simply though cautiously.

"What about Azrael?" Tabitha reasonably asks, opening her eyes enough to look at him through a lidded gaze. She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back to stare at the angel across the alley from her, trying to project cool confidence.

"She's freakin' powerful, and not to mention, I'm her vessel, so she might be inclined to help me out if I ask," Tabitha continues to sanguinely point out.

"In exchange for your acceptance as her vessel," Castiel darkly answers, his voice deepening with his apparent anger at her suggestion.

"Maybe not," Tabitha tries arguing. "I mean, she's got to have another vessel of some sort in this universe since I don't exist here. Maybe I can get her to return me on goodwill or whatever to my own universe where I'm the vessel for her counterpart there."

Castiel suddenly stalks across the alley, standing in front of her as he stares down while explaining, " _You_ are Azrael's vessel. In this universe. Your universe. In _any_ universe. I don't know why she doesn't have a true vessel in this universe. But she doesn't. Because _you_ don't exist here. We had all assumed she was simply continuing her appointed duties for Death and not intervening in Lucifer and Michael's coming war, but if she's made aware of your existence here…there's no telling what she might do to you to make you say 'yes' to her. It won't matter what universe you say 'yes' to her in. She'll be able to accomplish the same thing, regardless of where you submit to her."

"So it's a risk, but maybe I can bargain with her, get her help without 'submitting' to her." Tabitha brushes off his concern, all while internally bristling at his wording of submitting to anyone or anything. "But I'm sick of this. I'm sick of this strange limbo I'm stuck in here. I'm not supposed to be here. And I'm reminded of it every second of every day. In the way that Dean tries to be my protective older brother and only succeeds in being a domineering ass. In the way that Sam tries to be peacekeeper and only succeeds in acting like he's sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

Castiel stands in front of her, some of the anger slipping away as he looks awkwardly at her, unsure of how to handle her sudden outburst of emotion, his hands clenching and unclenching in a nervous manner.

Sighing, she adds, "Or even the way you have no idea what to say or do. At least in my world, even when you don't have a clue what to say, you still somehow know what to do."

"Your brothers need time to adjust to your presence," he tries insisting, not addressing her words. That much she notes is no different between her Castiel and this. The way he brushes off things he doesn't understand.

Lowering his voice, he adds, "It is difficult now, but in time, they will become used to you, and you won't even remember that you hadn't once existed here."

"But it'll always be there in the background," she argues, wrapping her arms around herself. "There will always be things I remember from my world, that _I_ will be the only one here to know. Even if I share those memories with those two here. They'll only be stories to that Sam and Dean," she tells him, flinging a hand back in the direction of her brothers' motel room.

"I'll always be alone here," she whispers, closing her eyes to stem the tears that threaten to fall. Loneliness…had always been the things she feared most. The one thing she had always felt would one day swallow her whole.

Castiel's voice drops to a soft whisper, his breath tickling her cheek as he leans closer to assure her, "You don't have to be."

She doesn't know who moves first, whether she pulls the angel to her, or if he closes the gap to capture her lips. Or perhaps they move together, their lips connecting and moving in a well-synchronized dance.

But as one, they stumble together out of the alley, shuffling with tangled feet towards the closest motel room along the long line of doors. Tabitha fumbles with the doorknob, struggling to open it, but Castiel reaches out to cover her hand, and suddenly, the door opens easily as they stumble in. Castiel wastes no time in returning to her lips, tasting her with the eagerness of a child that has just discovered the wonderful joy of his first lick of cool, sweet ice cream.

Her movements are nearly frantic as Tabitha shoves Castiel's trench coat and suit coat over his shoulders. She delights in the hungry moans she elicits when she rakes her hands up his chest, grabbing his shirt and yanking it open, buttons flying across the room. When she roughly loosens the tie and pulls it over Castiel's head, forcing him to part from her lips, she nearly laughs at his boyishly impatient noises. But her smile is cut off as he returns to her lips with an increased fervor.

His hands had mostly been complacent, gripping her arms as his lips tasted her, but she pulls them away, sliding one down to her hip and the other up her side under her sweatshirt as she raggedly breaths, "Touch me, Cas."

With that tiny encouragement, he grips her sweatshirt in both hands, not bothering to unzip it, but bunching it and the tank top beneath in his insistent fingers and tugging it up over her head.

The rest of their clothes soon are flung to the floor as well, Castiel backing Tabitha step by step until she falls backwards onto the bed.

And then he crawls eagerly after her.

In the aftermath, Tabitha lays with her head on Castiel's chest, struggling to regain her breath as he holds her close with one arm.

His chest rumbles beneath her ear as he asks, "Did I…do that right?"

Her laughter comes out in a soft rush as she twists more onto her side to look at him. Gently, she assures him, "Yeah. You did that exactly right."

She laughs a little more at his satisfied grin, thinking to herself that his first time in this world wasn't too different than it had been in her world. Despite his lack of experience, he'd had more than enough passion and instinct to make up for it.

As a thought hits her, she scoots a little further under the covers, covering her face as she groans, "Oh my god."

"Yes, you called out to God many times. Are prayers very common during sex?"

Tabitha slides her hands down to stare up into Castiel's curious gaze, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she laughs and tells him, "Well, I do often find myself praying when I'm with you. But it's not exactly God I'm thinkin' of."

She shakes her head as she comes back to her original thought. "I was just realizing that I've taken your…virginity…twice now. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry at that realization."

Castiel reaches down to cup her face, his forehead wrinkling as he worriedly asks, "Why should that make you cry? I thought I did that right?"

Her own expression softens as she assures him, "You did. You were…great. Just like always."

To herself, she can't stop the thought, _But you're still not_ my _Cas._

Unaware of her inner turmoil, he tells her, "I know it will still take time for you to adjust to this world, but I can't imagine not having you in it now. It seems…empty to look back on it the way it was before. As if…there was some…darkness, always threatening to swallow me whole before." He blushes a bit before telling her, "I've come to like simply looking at your smile. It…makes my chest feel lighter somehow. What is that? What is that feeling?"

Tears well in her eyes at hearing such hauntingly similar words echo in this world to those she and Castiel had once shared in her own world.

And despite the fact that _this_ Castiel isn't _her_ Castiel, she softly whispers, "Love. It's love. And I've loved you for a long time, Cas."

Never in her own world had she been brave enough to even consider those words to herself. Never allowed herself to admit that feeling. Admitting it now, she realizes she can't stay. That she has to get home. Somehow.

Suddenly, she springs to her feet, tugging her clothes on with frantic movements, ignoring Castiel's startled protests as he begins redressing as well, asking her repeatedly what's wrong.

She pauses at the door, telling him, "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry for what I have to do. But I have to risk it. This isn't where I belong. I have to go back."

The door slams behind her as she races outside, closing her eyes, and then both mentally and verbally screaming out with all her might, "Azrael!"

There's a soft chuckle before a familiar voice greets her with, "Well, well, well. Isn't this just curious?"

Before she can open her eyes, she feels Azrael yank her from the motel parking lot.

"So, you're my vessel," Azrael comments, causing Tabitha to open her eyes, carefully taking in the sight of the archangel.

"You're not what I expected," the angel continues to observe.

Somehow, finding Azrael still using the deceased psychic to appear in isn't quite what Tabitha had expected however. Not that she can imagine how else the angel would have appeared to her.

Tabitha takes her time looking around her new surroundings, taking in the almost rural landscape, and the tombstones scattered spaciously around the weed-over-run area.

Turning her attention back to the angel, Tabitha thinks to ask, "Am I dreaming? I mean, every other time you've appeared to me, it's been in a dream. I thought Castiel told me once that you could use a dead person's image—" she gestures to the angel appearing as her friend, Pamela, "—in a human's dreams, but that you needed an actual, willing, vessel to actually walk the earth."

Azrael shrugs in a careless fashion. "True," she agrees, and then gestures flippantly around them. "Think of this place as somewhere between the sleeping and waking world."

Tabitha points out, "I was pretty awake when I called out to you."

With a droll look, Azrael explains, "I'm an archangel. Not some powerless little cherub."

"Right," Tabitha grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. After a steadying breath, she rolls back her shoulders and tells the angel, "So. About why I called out for you…"

"Dorothy wants to go home. I know," Azrael laughs, examining her fingernails. "She wants to get back to the brainless scarecrow and cowardly lion."

Tabitha's mouth falls open, her jaw slack for several seconds as she stares in shock. Finally, she sputters, "Those are my brothers you're talking about. And _your_ brothers' vessels."

Rolling her eyes, Azrael tells her, "I didn't say my own brothers aren't just as bad." Then she grins before adding, "But you and I both know which one of your brothers is which."

Deciding not to dignify the insult to her brothers—after all, only _she_ gets to insult them like that—she asks the angel in a clipped tone, "So I take it that makes you the good ole Wizard that can send me home? Right? Although I'd have thought you fit the role of the Wicked Witch of the West a little better."

She chuckles mirthfully in response. "I like you," she tells Tabitha with a happy grin. "I had a moment there of doubt, but you've got spunk and spirit." The grin falls away as Azrael's face becomes an expressionless mask. "You'll need that strength," she continues in a factual voice.

The way Azrael and all angels can switch off their emotions has always unnerved Tabitha, and this time is no exception.

Shifting from foot to foot, Tabitha decides to comment, "You talk like you know exactly who I am and what I contacted you about."

Answering the unasked question, Azrael once more grins, but it's a hollow expression, lacking the light of true emotion in her eyes as the angel tells her, "Of course I know who you are and what you want. The second you reached out to me, I knew everything."

Azrael moves to perch herself on the edge of an old tombstone, the edges of the stone weather smoothed, and tipping slightly forward from the years stuck in the unstable ground. As the angel poses, crossing one leg over the other at her knee, she gestures back at Tabitha with a flourish. "There's a connection between us. A connection between every angel their vessel. Long established in the bloodlines. That connection is what makes you my vessel. It's what allowed me to know everything about you the moment you lowered your guard and reached out to me. And it's why you _will_ one day say 'yes' to me."

"You keep saying that. And I keep saying 'no,'" Tabitha huffs in reply, hoping that she's able to keep the anxiety from showing in her voice. She doesn't want the angel to know her words have any real effect. If she can keep it all calm and business like, she still thinks she can convince the powerful archangel to send her back to her own world.

"It's inevitable," Azrael shrugs dismissively. "It's just a matter of how much damage our brothers will do in the meantime."

" _My_ brothers are at least trying to stop this mess," she hisses, losing her cool grip on her emotions. "Why don't you do something about your brothers _without_ sacrificing the human race?!"

"It will happen," Azrael repeats. "No matter what I say or do to try and stop them. Believe me, been there, done that, got the t-shirt," Azrael snips. "The only recourse I've got left to stop my brothers, is what my Father left to me. To us."

"No."

Azrael heaves a sigh, and for just a minute, Tabitha sees real emotion flicker in the archangel's eyes. A crushing weariness born of uncountable millennia. In a flash, it's gone, though a lingering weariness remains in her voice as Azrael explains, "You don't understand what's coming, Tabitha. I know I've tried to be patient with you in your world, explain it to you gently and wait for you to come to me—" she heaves another sigh, pulling both legs up to cross underneath herself as she props herself precariously on the tombstone before continuing. "But in this world, I don't have that kind of time. You need to see what's coming. Now. Before it's too late."

The archangel raises her hand, snapping her fingers reminiscently in the same manner that Gabriel had. But the sights the accost Tabitha are no fun and games like the TV-loving angel's had been.

Images swirl around her in a haze until one sight blurs into another. Tabitha sees the small country graveyard she stands in become the first battleground in the final war between Lucifer and Michael. Sees them as they face off against each other in their true vessels. She watches as her brothers' bodies take hit after hit as the final war is waged. Sees her brothers as they host the angelic brothers in their war…sees that war traverse the world. Scores of humans die all around her. The screams swelling in her ears as blood runs down the streets in crimson and viscous sheets. Above her and all around her, the skies rain fire and ash…and angels fall and die alongside the billions of humans she witnesses in the merciless slaughter of Heavenly war.

Her heart constricts as she plays helpless witness to Castiel's fall as well. Watches as he struggles to stop his brothers, pleads with them to spare humanity their war and to spare her brothers as well. She can do nothing but watch in horror as Lucifer snaps his fingers, effortlessly slaying Castiel for his efforts.

Finally, her heart plummets to unimaginable depths as she witnesses the culmination. Sees the unrelenting battle between Lucifer and Michael. Watches as they refuse to back down, each ensuring the death of the other, amid the last death-knell of the last living human. The hapless victims of the brothers' struggle.

"How can that be better than what I offer?"

Tabitha looks up from the ground where she kneels, hands spread wide amidst the dried grasses as she braces herself, tears blurring her view of the world she finds herself in once more.

Remaining on her knees, she touches the wetness of her cheeks, almost in disbelief that something as simple as tears can still exist in the world after the horror she's witnessed. Something as urbane as tears so at odds with the depth of abhorrence she feels.

"What?" she croaks in confusion, her throat feeling as stripped raw as her emotions now are.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she can finally see Azrael perched on the tombstone in front of her.

The angel repeats herself, her gaze looking almost apologetic. Almost. "How can what I've shown you be better than what I offer?"

"All those people died," she whispers in a horrified voice. "The world ran red with their blood," she cries, feeling the resurgence of tears. "My brothers died. Cas…died."

"They all died horrible deaths," she placidly agrees, as though unaffected by the vision she's just given Tabitha. "The whole world. What I offer instead…is a mercy."

"It's still the death of everything and everyone."

She shakes her head. "I offer peace. There won't be any suffering. No pain. It'll be as if no one and none of this ever existed." Her voice lowers and softens as she gestured around the desolate graveyard. "It's better even than the pain that this world and your world currently wallow in."

Gracefully, the angel unfolds herself from the tombstone, moving to stand in front of where Tabitha still kneels, reaching down to cup her face.

"You think I bring only death," the angel whispers. "But when we finally come together as one…we'll bring mercy, Tabitha. Peace. Rest."

When Tabitha cannot speak around the lump that forms in her throat, the angel presses, "You'll bring peace and mercy to your brothers…to Castiel. Why rip out the Tin Man's heart when he's just found it?"

Tabitha wrenches away from the angel, scrambling ungainly to her feet to face the archangel. " _No_ ," she vehemently hisses. "No matter what you say or what parlor tricks you try to show me, I _won't_ give in to you. I won't _ever_ give up on my brothers like you did on yours. They'll find a way. _We'll_ find a way."

Azrael sighs as her arms cross over her chest. "And scores of people will die before you understand what you have to do."

"You're wrong," Tabitha insists, but her words sound weak, even to herself.

After a tense moment, Tabitha whispers, "I just want to go home. What do you want from me in exchange for sending me home?"

"I always intended to send you home," the angel tells her. "You're right in that you don't belong here. But you needed to see what I hadn't shown you before. You needed to see what the consequences would be. And now that you've followed the Yellow Brick Road, it's time to go home."

"How?" Tabitha whispers.

The angel laughs a little. "This is the part where I tell you that you've always had the power to return, isn't it? That you've had it all along."

"What, click my heels three times and say, 'There's no place like home'?" Tabitha snaps in return. "Sorry. Fresh out of magic slippers."

Azrael reaches out, gripping Tabitha's wrist before she can pull away. The angel fingers the single wing pendant on her bracelet as she explains, "You've got something better. Something that connects and grounds you to where you belong."

Tabitha's eyes narrow suspiciously on the charm that Azrael holds in her fingers. "So that charm's gonna be what gets me home? Just close my eyes and wish three times?"

The angel nods. "Something like that," she chuckles. "Concentrate on the connection this charm provides to where you belong, and with a little push from me, you'll be home."

Just as her eyes close and she thinks of her brothers and another angel from her world, Tabitha feels herself jerked through time and space again.

"Tab! Tab! Are you okay?!" Dean's voice pleads as she feels her body being shaken.

As she opens her eyes, she sees her brothers leaning over her as she lies on the floor.

"Where were you?" Sam worriedly asks her, helping her to sit up from the hard carpet of their motel room.

"I'm back?" she asks them, gingerly touching each of her brothers to confirm that it's not a strange dream.

"Just appeared in the room and collapsed on the floor," Dean confirms, brow furrowed and lips pulled tight from worry.

Tabitha scoots back to rest against the nearby bed as she tells her brothers, "There's _no_ place like _home_. Even if it's a dingy motel room."

Her brothers give her strange looks, but as she glances over at the motionless form of the trench coated angel on the other bed, and wonders to herself once more, if it really is inevitable that she'll say yes to another angel…if only to protect her scarecrow, lion, and tin man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, seems like all I do the last several chapters is apologize for the delays. But here it is again. Sorry! I…um…got caught up in the Olympics?
> 
> Okay, sorta true. I have been watching them since the opening. What a game between the men's US hockey team with Russia. Frickin' awesome! Lol, sorry. Former hockey nut here. Played women's hockey all the way through college, so that was an exciting game for me to watch. Not quite the 1980 game, but…wow. Having been a goalie, I can tell you how nerve wracking those penalty shots are. My record was in a tournament where our team battled through 7 sudden death overtimes and I took (and blocked) 8 penalty shots before our team finally scored. I was exhausted mentally and physically!
> 
> Anywho, back to the story. What really took me so long to finish this chapter was the fact that it didn't end up being what I started writing. I had the idea of the storyline a while back, and thought it would be fun. But as I got into writing it, I realized I was writing a chapter that wasn't furthering the plot or character development, or anything. It was just a fun storyline I'd imagined where she falls into a world where Sam and Dean don't have a sister. I'd planned a lot of cute and funny scenes, both with the boys, and even with Gabriel. But it wasn't really furthering anything. And that's just something I can't stand in fiction.
> 
> There's nothing I hate more than reading a never-ending story that becomes that way because an author doesn't know what stuff should be cut from the pages. ( And yes, I know this story has become a behemoth itself) but there isn't a single chapter written in this story that doesn't in some way further plot, character development, or relationship building. Sometimes, I'm furthering plots that are still WAY down the track. But things are planned out in my mind.
> 
> Until I came to this chapter anyway. From day one, it was a somewhat chaotic, crazy idea that came from left field. And I literally cringed when I realized this chapter was going literally nowhere and was just a fun, fluffy chapter. And that's cool sometimes, but I'm a big believer that even fluff has to have a point. I hate books I've read where the author goes into minute detail of the character's every movement, down to the rye and pastrami sandwich they have on Tuesday and then again on Thursday. Really? How does that matter to the story?!
> 
> So I was left with two choices: Admit my foolish mistake and scrap the whole idea and chapter, or make some drastic changes to fill a harebrained idea with substance.
> 
> As scraping the idea would have meant rewriting the ending of the previous chapter, I decided to grit my teeth and forge ahead.
> 
> I'm not sure I'm completely happy with the resulting chapter. Some of it may have been forced—at least to my mind—but at least what I came up with furthered plot, character development, and even a little bit of relationship discovery on Tabitha's part. She's admitted something to herself now, seen her own brothers in a different light, and even Azrael has gotten a little face-time so that she can nudge Tabitha a bit further towards her own goals. Whether those goals are right or wrong. ;)
> 
> There's still plenty of mystery ahead, and hopefully I've got things back on track where they belong. And we can continue with our regularly scheduled program in the next chapter.
> 
> If this was a disappointing chapter, I apologize profusely! But hopefully I was still able to inject some levity into a chapter that I had to force some substance into. Either way, it's finally done and I can move on!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, and every review is a smile in my day that reminds me to hurry up with whatever I'm doing so I can get back to something I love.
> 
> Love to all!


	12. Massacre My Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the uncensored version of this chapter, and fair warning, it's a bit more intense than what I've written before.

**Chapter 12: Massacre My Valentine (Uncensored)**

"Agent Marley, you just can't stay away," the coroner good-naturedly greets as Dean leads his siblings into the morgue.

Dean immediately jumps to business. "Heard you tagged another double suicide."

"Well, I just finished closing them up," the balding man agrees.

Dean gestures to his siblings, introducing them. "Dr. Corman, these are my partners, Special Agents Cliff and Foster."

The coroner looks back and forth between the two, so Tabitha genially holds her hand out, clarifying, "He's Cliff. I'm Special Agent Alicia Foster."

The doctor kindly shakes her hand, and then takes Sam's hand as well, telling them, "Nice to meet you both. I've finished my prelims."

Stepping past them, he continues, "I pulled the organ sets and sent off the tox samples."

"Great. You mind if we take a look at the bodies?" Sam asks, speaking of the couple that had been found dead after _eating_ each other following a date the day before Valentine's Day, and then the murder-suicide couple that night.

"Not at all," Dr. Corman replies, taking off his white lab coat. "But like I said—" he pulls open the refrigerated unit in the morgue to display the collection of organs in containers—"their…good-and-plenties are already tupperwared."

"Super," Sam comments.

"Leave the keys with Marty up front," the doctor continues, tossing a set of keys to Dean. "And please, gentlemen—" he pauses and concedes, "and lovely lady…refrigerate after opening…"

With his last off-the-cuff remark, he places a hat on his head and ambles out of the morgue.

Dean grins as the doctor leaves, commenting to his siblings, "I like that guy."

He turns to the containers in the refrigerator and asks his siblings, "Well, where do we start?"

They quickly divvy up the tupperware containers, taking their time going through the containers of organs.

As Sam and Tabitha approach the refrigerator at the same time, they brush against each other reaching inside to trade for different containers. Sam suddenly jerks back from his sister, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. "You change perfume?" he demands.

Tabitha glances down at the blood-speckled apron covering her blouse and then frowns at her brother. "Yeah, it's called eau de dead body."

She sniffs discreetly at the opening of her open blouse collar though, but finding nothing other than the whiff of her normal deodorant and perfume, shrugs and turns back to the tupperware container with a normal appearing kidney.

"Hey," Dean calls out, drawing their attention to him. He gestures to the container before him with a heart and pushes it towards Sam, asking, "Be my Valentine?" It's an unsubtle reminder of the previous day's romantic holiday. And though he's trying to act normal, both Tabitha and Sam share a worried look between them. For the first time in memory, Dean hadn't wanted to go trolling for unattached women during the over-hyped holiday. And as Sam had pointed out that night, you start worrying about a dog when it _doesn't_ eat.

But Sam turns back to the present, rolling his eyes as he starts to turn away, but stopping when something catches his eye.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he tells Dean, sliding the container closer. "Wait a second." He grabs another container with a heart and uncovers it as well.

"These hearts both have identical marks," he finally tells them.

"Could it be normal?" Dean wonders.

Tabitha leans over Sam's shoulder, frowning when he stiffens at her closeness, but ignores it as she tells Dean, "No way. That doesn't look like anything naturally occurring on a heart."

"You would know?" Dean somewhat dubiously asks.

Rolling her eyes, she reminds him, "Agents have to sit through at least one autopsy to be a field agent. And I've seen my share of them working cases. But I've never seen anything like _that_ on a heart."

"Check this out," Sam interrupts, holding a magnifying glass closer over the heart, "It looks like some kind of letter."

Sam suddenly groans. "Oh, no."

"What?" Dean asks with trepidation.

Shoving the lighted magnifying glass away, he sighs, "I think it's Enochian."

Tabitha leans closer to look at the hearts, agreeing with her brother's assessment.

Dean asks, "You mean like angel scratches?"

Sam replies with a silent look of agreement.

Carrying the thought, Dean says, "So you think it's like the tagging on our ribs?"

"Dean, I don't know," Sam answers.

"We know someone who does," Tabitha points out with a sigh, stepping across the morgue.

Since her little trip to Oz—as she's come to think of it as—she hasn't seen Castiel. He'd still been passed out when she arrived back with her brothers, and he'd disappeared that night while she and the boys slept.

As she paces in the cold morgue, she can't figure out why her palms are suddenly sweating at the thought of seeing her angel again.

She vaguely hears Dean calling the angel and giving him their location.

But when she hears the angel's voice, she suddenly feels a shudder wrack her body.

"I'm there now," Castiel tells Dean, appearing in the morgue.

Dean stands with only a foot of space separating him and the angel, both with their phones still to their ears.

"Yeah, I get that," Dean drolly comments.

"I'm gonna hang up now," Castiel explains into the phone.

"Right."

Sam gestures them to the autopsy table, breaking the strange silence as he tells Castiel, "Check out these two hearts, Cas."

The angel steps up to the table, picking up the two hearts with his bare hands and examining them.

"You're right, Sam," Castiel agrees. "These are angelic marks. I imagine you'll find similar marks on the other couples' hearts as well."

"So, what are they?" Sam asks, looking up at the standing angel from his seated position. "I mean, what do they mean?"

Thinking that she finally has herself under control again, Tabitha steps closer to her brothers and the angel, trying to keep a few feet of distance between herself and Castiel.

But before she knows what she's doing, she's standing at the angel's elbow, her arm just brushing against his trench coat.

Castiel inhales deeply before answering in a stilted voice, "It's…uh…it's a mark of union."

His eyes dart over to look at Tabitha without turning his head as he shifts unsteadily from foot to foot.

Struggling, he continues, "This man, and uh…this woman…they…they were intended to mate."

He drops the heart unceremoniously into the container, his hands clamping down and clenching against the sides of the stainless steel autopsy table.

Tabitha finds her eyes transfixed on his long delicate fingers, now stained red with blood from handling the heart.

"Okay," Dean continues. "But who put them there?"

One of Castiel's hands lift from the side of the table, making a flourish in the air as he draws a deep breath of air and explains, "Well, uh…your people call them 'Cupid.'"

Eyes still fixated on his hands, Tabitha leans closer to Castiel, her shoulder pressing against his as she licks her lips. _I should clean his hands for him_ , she thinks to herself. _They're far more elegant looking when they're not covered in blood._

"A what?" Sam questions.

Castiel inhales deeply, leaning minutely towards Tabitha before spinning away from her as he continues, "What human myth has mistaken for 'Cupid' is actually a lower order of angel. Technically it's a cherub, third-class."

Although he'd started to step away from Tabitha, she feels him turn back towards her as he speaks. Can almost feel him as he stands behind her, his warm breath blowing across the loose blond hair covering her neck. She curses herself now for not having the forethought to place it up in a French twist or bun, yearning to feel that warm breath across the skin of her neck.

"Cherub?" Dean asks, sparing a strange look for his sister and another over her head.

Behind her, Castiel continues, "Yeah, they're all over the world. There are dozens of them."

His words come as he moves slightly closer behind her, and as Tabitha feels the slightest tremors wracking her body, she swears she can almost feel the heat radiating from the angel through her back. She shuffles her feet, rubbing her thighs together at the tingle that spreads across her skin.

"You mean the little flying fat kid in diapers?" Dean clarifies, frowning deeper in confusion at his sister.

"You feeling alright?" he asks her. "You're shivering. It ain't _that_ cold in here."

Behind her, she hears Castiel passionately defend, "They're not incontinent."

The sound of sudden emotion in his voice spins Tabitha around, her chest brushing the angel's as she stares up into his eyes. She's almost glad now for wearing flats instead of heels, which normally leave her at eye-level with the angel. It's nice looking up at him.

Chest heaving in a fast rhythm, Tabitha slowly begins reaching up to Castiel's face. His head is turned down towards her, his own chest brushing against hers in nearly the same staccato tempo.

"Tabitha…" his voice whispers in a soft caress, sounding like a plea for her to touch him.

"Tabitha?" Dean's voice breaks over the top of the angel's, tugging at the last of her sane mind and reminding her that she's standing in a morgue—littered not only with body parts, but also occupied by her own brothers.

Unable to think of anything else, Tabitha strikes her open palm across Castiel's face, the slap echoing in the sterile environment as she jogs past the angel and out of the basement morgue.

By the time she hurries past Marty walking down one of the halls in the hospital and makes her way outside, she's managed to calm her suddenly runaway libido, but her chest still heaves unevenly at the events of only moments before.

She shakes herself, suddenly dying for another one of the cigarettes that Dean had made her stop smoking again. It's almost a shock that she had actually slapped Castiel, but that had been the only thing she could think to do to stop herself from grabbing and devouring him.

Hands twitching at her sides while she tugs nervously on her blouse, she laughs to herself and jokingly asks aloud, "Who'd of thought admitting something so silly to the Tin Man in Oz would make me get so hot and bothered here?" Somehow, thinking of that world and those inhabitants in the terms of Oz seems easier to her mind. Certainly less confusing than thinking in terms of that Sam vs this Sam.

She circles around the parking lot, shaking and wringing her hands as she tells herself, "Get your shit together, Tab. You can't fall apart like that now. Especially not in front of the boys. Dean'll come unglued if he finds out about your extracurricular activities with the angel."

She snorts to herself and jokes, "Maybe you were just a lonely sap from spending yet another Valentines alone."

* * *

Tabitha studiously picks at her salad, refusing to look up and meet the eyes of any of her male companions sitting around the table with her. And especially not looking up into the eyes of the angel across from her. At the moment, she'd rather be anywhere than hanging around the tacky restaurant that still sports its Valentine's Day decor a day after the holiday is over.

She can feel her brothers giving her confused looks as well, but she pointedly ignores them, not wanting to come up with any other lies or stories to tell them to explain away her odd behavior from the morgue. She'd told them that she'd slapped the angel because she was still mad at him for dropping her into a strange world, but she knows they hadn't quite bought the story. They just couldn't come up with any different conclusions.

Deciding apparently to move on from staring at his sister, Dean asks Castiel, "So, what, you just happen to know he likes the cosmos at this place?" Apparently, the angel had informed her brothers that they would find the cupid here. The assumption seems to be cupid gone rogue.

Castiel turns to eldest Winchester beside him, watching as Dean squirts ketchup on his burger while he explains, "This place is a nexus of human reproduction."

Nearly choking on her bite of salad at his wording, Tabitha quickly grabs her glass of water and sips it while avoiding the stares of both Dean and Castiel across from her.

Shifting again in her seat, Tabitha recrosses her legs, but freezes when her foot grazes Castiel's shin. As he continues speaking, one of his hands suddenly reaches down under the table, griping Tabitha's foot and sliding her shoe off. His hand begins massaging the arch of her foot and her toes with strong, sure fingers. The sensation forces Tabitha to bite her tongue to hold back a moan of pleasure at his clever fingers. And in return, she rubs her other foot against his leg, working up his knee and to his thigh.

Tabitha's eyes track up to meet Castiel's as he continues telling them, "It's exactly the kind of—" his eyes suddenly dart from her to Dean's burger, seeming torn between the two as he continues, "…of garden the cupid will come to—to pollinate."

Dean picks up the burger, oblivious to the angel's hungry looks, and then sets the burger down, pushing it away without taking a bite.

"Wait a minute," Sam laughs, "you're not hungry?"

"No."

When even Tabitha pauses in staring at Castiel to glance dubiously at Dean, he scoffs, "What? I'm not hungry."

Castiel licks his lips. "Then you're not gonna finish that?"

The angel's hands suddenly release her foot, forcing a pout to her face as she laments his lost attention.

At Dean's uninterested look, Castiel reaches out to snatch the plate and slide it closer.

The angel picks up the burger, oblivious to even Tabitha's surprised reaction, but before he can bite into the burger, he jerks up to look across the restaurant, saying, "He's here."

"Where?" the boys ask at once.

"I don't see anything," Sam adds.

Castiel's eyes trail movement across the way, and despite knowing there's something going on, Tabitha can't force her eyes away from the angel, choosing instead to watch the way his eyes squint and narrow on whatever it is across the restaurant. She marvels at the way his face pinches in an adorable fashion.

"There," Castiel points out.

Dean dubiously asks, "You mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?"

"Meet me in back," Castiel instructs, and then disappears, leaving Tabitha to sigh in disappointment at his departure.

"Let's go," Dean relents, but he pauses after tossing down his napkin to exasperatedly ask his sister, "Seriously, what's wrong with you? You bitch-slapped Cas, and then you spent the past ten minutes sighing and staring at your salad. _What_ is going on?"

"Nothing," she huffs, pushing away from the table to avoid his questions. To herself, she can't help but wonder the same thing though.

"What the hell _is_ wrong with me?" she mutters to herself, wondering if she had _really_ just rubbed her foot against Castiel's leg while sitting at the same table with her brothers.

The siblings finally find Castiel in a back room of the restaurant, what appears to be a storage room filled with crates of alcohol and canned goods.

"Cas, where is he?" Sam demands as they approach the angel, his hand outstretched in front of him. His palm is faced away from himself, as though holding something in place or signaling for something to stop.

Without turning to face them, Castiel explains, "I have him tethered. Zoda kama mahrana." His voice becomes softer as he commands, "Manifest yourself."

When he lowers his hand, the Winchesters look curiously around the room, searching for this supposed cupid.

Hands spread wide, Dean demands, "So, where is he?"

Tabitha and Sam jump back as a chubby, naked man suddenly grabs Dean from behind, wrapping him in a bear hug as he excitedly exclaims, "Here I am!" His hug is accompanied by a round of giggles as he shakes Dean back and forth, holding him in the air as if he was no more than a rag doll.

Sam and Tabitha share perplexed, searching looks, as if daring each other to be the one to step in to help their older brother.

As each of them silently urges the other to do something, they hear Dean shout pleadingly, "Help!"

The…cupid…happily tells Dean, "Oh, help is on the way."

"Do something," Sam hisses at his older sister.

"Prying naked dudes away from one of my brothers isn't in my job description," she snaps back, thinking she's not about to approach the situation with a ten-foot pole.

"Well, you should be more familiar with nak—"

She shoves at Sam's shoulder, cutting off his words as she growls, "I dare you to finish that thought."

The cupid continues to…manhandle their brother, still shaking him from side to side as he enthuses, "Yes, it is. Yes, it is." All while still giggling in a merry, but childlike manner.

Finally looking up and spotting Castiel, the cupid drops Dean to his feet, rushing forward to embrace Castiel similarly as he happily shouts, "Hello, you!"

An uncomfortable Castiel stands stiffly in the embrace of the cupid, not moving or fighting as the cupid lifts him from his feet, giving him the same treatment he'd shown Dean.

"This is cupid?" Dean asks.

In a strained voice, Castiel answers over the cupid's shoulder, "Yes."

The cupid turns then, spotting Tabitha and Sam as he gushes, "And look at you two, huh?"

He darts after the pair, and as Sam shakes his head in apprehension, Tabitha quickly maneuvers herself behind her brother, even pushing him towards the cherub while taking refuge behind his much taller frame. Perhaps selfishly, she'd rather sacrifice her little brother to the cupid than find herself being caught in his…unclothed embrace.

In a repeated fashion, the cupid embraces Sam while giggling and shaking him.

Fearing that he might come after her next, Tabitha darts behind Dean, hands on his back as she sneaks looks over his shoulder.

"Oh, now you want help from me," he irritably comments to her as he frowns over his shoulder. But he obligingly holds his hands out in a protective manner, planting himself more firmly in front of her.

To Castiel, Dean somewhat desperately asks, "Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?"

The angel steps beside Dean, standing next to him in a similarly protective manner as he glances at Tabitha before replying, "This is…their handshake."

Still a little desperate, Dean tells him, "I don't like it."

"No one likes it," Castiel agrees.

"Who would?" Tabitha mutters disdainfully. Then, feeling the hair on the back of her neck raise, turns to look behind her. Only to be engulfed in a bone-crushing hug as the cupid appears there.

After a hug that goes on far too long for Tabitha's taste, she finally feels Dean's hands on her shoulders trying to pry her from the cupid as he impatiently snaps at the cherub, "All right ya naked creep. Get your pervy hands off our sister."

The cherub finally releases Tabitha, strutting to stand in front of Dean and Castiel as he asks his fellow angel in a slightly lisping voice, "What can I do for you?"

Castiel immediately demands, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Your targets—" Castiel informs him, "the ones you've marked—they're slaughtering each other."

The cupid's perpetually happy face falls. "What?" His voice dropping to a sad note, he asks, "They are?"

Eyes still darting around uncomfortably, Dean jumps in, "Listen, birthday suit, we know, okay? We know you been flittin' around, popping people with your poison arrow, making them murder each other!"

Castiel adds to Dean's angry tirade, "What we don't know is _why_."

The cupid had started chewing on his fingers, but turns to stare incredulously at his fellow angel. "You think I—" He doesn't finish as his face falls even more, tears filling his eyes as he starts to cry. "Well, uh," he begins, voice breaking, "I don't know what to say."

Covering his eyes, the cupid pushes past them, moving to a corner as his tears audibly increase.

The four of them all turn to stare at the sobbing cupid's back, and then turn to give each other perplexed looks.

Quietly, Sam begins to question, "Should…should somebody maybe…go talk to him?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Dean agrees, and then the brothers turn together to look at their sister expectantly.

Jaw dropping, she hisses in a soft whisper, " _Me_? Why are you looking at me? Like I know the first thing about comforting a sobbing cupid."

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean tells her, "Yeah, but you're…you know…"

His careful attempts to not sound condescending fall flat.

Voice rising a little more, she points out, "Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean I know squat about comforting someone that emotional." She waves an irritated hand at the pair of them. "I mean, look at what I grew up with. Winchester men are the most emotionally retarded group of guys out there. So don't look at me to know how to comfort the naked guy."

Dean silently concedes her point with a shrug. Then, turning to Castiel, he says, "Well, you're up slugger. Give 'em hell, Cas."

Eager for the task not to fall to either of them, both of the boys give Castiel a supportive slap on his shoulder, not so subtly pushing him towards the increasing sounds of sobbing.

Castiel gives an unhappy look to the boys, once laced with a little bit of betrayal, probably from the perceived lack of solidarity to their male bond.

Nevertheless, Castiel starts towards the sobbing cherub, telling him, "Um…look." He stops just behind the cupid, telling him, "We didn't mean to, um…" He glances back to the Winchesters, and the siblings all give him supportive nods.

Turning back to the cherub, he continues, "…hurt your feelings."

Again, the cupid spins around and grabs Castiel in a tight hug.

As he tightly grips Castiel, he tells him, "Love is more than a word to me, you know. I _love_ love. I love it! And if that's wrong, I don't want to be right!"

Hands coming up to awkwardly pat the cherub on the back, Castiel consoles, "Yes, yes. Of course. I, uh…I have no idea what you're saying."

The cherub releases him as he explains, "I was just on my appointed rounds. Whatever my targets do after that, that's nothing to do with me. I-I was following my orders."

He suddenly stares in Castiel's eyes, telling him, "Please, brother. Read my mind. You'll see."

They continue staring at each other for another minute before Castiel turns to face the Winchesters.

"He's telling the truth."

The cupid sighs, happily exclaiming, "Jiminy Christmas. Thank you."

Castiel moves away from the cherub, coming to stand beside Tabitha. All too aware of his closeness, Tabitha keeps her gaze focused away from him, instead casually looking the cherub over.

"Wait, wait, you said—" Dean begins asking, "you said you were just following orders?"

"Mmm-hmm."

" _Whose_ orders?"

The cupid laughs heartily, and in his lisping voice exclaims, "Heaven, silly. Heaven."

"Why does Heaven care if Harry meets Sally?" Dean demands, looking across at his siblings.

He stiffens and snaps at his sister, "Yo, Tabitha! Eyes north of the equator."

She feels her face heat a bit as she drags her eyes back north to the cupid's face.

"What the hell is wrong with you tonight?" Dean once more demands.

Clearing her throat a little, Tabitha can't help pointing out, "I mean… _come on_. There ain't much…cherubish about the guy. You have to admit. Can't fault a girl for admiring."

On either side of her, she can feel her brothers' eyes—as well as Castiel's—track curiously south on the cupid, their heads canting to the side almost in unison before they each give a little cough and focus their attention elsewhere.

Oblivious to the interlude, the cupid answers Dean's question. "Oh, mostly they don't. You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies." He suddenly gestures at the siblings. "Oh, like yours."

"What?" Sam questions in surprise.

His voice is more serious as he continues. "Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester— _very_ big deal upstairs, top priority arrangement. Mmm."

Incredulously, Dean asks, "Are you saying that you fixed-up our parents?"

"Well, not me, but…yeah." Chuckling to himself, he continues, "Well, it wasn't easy, either. Ooh, they couldn't stand each other at first. But when we were done with them—perfect couple."

"Perfect?"

"Yeah."

Dean snaps, "They're dead!"

Apologetically, the cupid explains, "I'm sorry, but…the orders were very clear. The three of you needed to be born. Your parents were just, uh…meant to be."

He grins then and begins singing, "A match made in Heaven. Heaven!"

Tabitha bites her cheek as she mulls over the information the cherub has given them, thoughts swirling in her mind. She remembers that she hadn't been all that wild about Castiel when she first met him, and that the Tin Man hadn't been that keen on her when she first showed up in Oz, either. And when she considers how strangely she's been acting the past few hours—since working this case where a cupid is running around—she has to wonder.

Before she can think the question over too long and talk herself out of asking it, she says, "So, people that can't seem to stay away from each other, people that everyone else thinks are in love…that's just you, or another cupid, making them feel that way?"

The cupid shrugs a little. "Not always. Just with certain bloodlines and destinies that we're under orders to make sure align." He chuckles a little merrily. "We don't set up _every_ couple, silly. Just the ones that matter to Heaven."

Careful of the knowledge that her brothers are standing beside her, she asks, "So, is Heaven going to be setting up the three of us then, to continue their twisted little match-making game with our family?"

Still laughing merrily, the cupid replies, "Oh, I don't know, cutie. Heaven hasn't given any orders like that yet."

Before she can react, the cherub steps forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward into a quickstep waltz with him as he continues singing "Cheek to Cheek" again.

He holds their clasped hands up a little higher between them as he giggles softly, "Not that it matters to you. Looks like someone's already marked you." Her eyes dart to her wrist and the bracelet jingling as he shakes her hand.

She's so stupefied, she doesn't even notice when Dean pries her away from the cupid again, angrily punching him in the face.

His low muttering as he grips his fist finally shakes her to awareness as she looks up to find the cupid gone.

Sam waves his hands in an annoyed manner when they realize the cupid has disappeared.

"Where is he?" Dean asks. "Where'd he go?!"

"I believe you upset him," Castiel points out.

"Upset _him_?!" Dean snaps.

Trying to calm their brother, Sam cautions, "Dean. Enough!"

"What?" Dean demands, his tone still angry.

Voice rising, Sam tells him in exasperation, "You just punched a cupid!"

"I punched a dick!" he shouts back. "You saw him. Pervy dude had his hands all over our sister!"

Sam looks back at Castiel before continuing in a careful tone, "Um…are we gonna talk about what's been up with you lately or not?"

Dean stares at Sam and visibly restrains himself. "Or not," he angrily growls, striding out of the storage room.

Sam turns to his sister, brows raised in challenge as he asks, "And what's going on with you?"

She swallows nervously as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her suit jacket, shuffling closer to her younger brother as she tries to think of a way to cover her admittedly strange behavior the past few hours. She's not even sure how to explain it to herself.

As she nears him, Sam abruptly stiffens and takes a huge step back from her.

Head tilting in suspicion, she asks him, "Are we gonna talk about what's going on with _you_?"

Sam stares at her for a moment, and then turns to swiftly stalk out of the storeroom.

Left alone with Castiel, Tabitha finds her heart rate increasing and her breath turning into shallow pants as she fights to resist the urges trying to pull her across the space between them.

Castiel seems to be restraining himself in a similar manner, leaning down as his hands grip the sides of a crate in front of him.

"I think I deserve to know just what the hell this charm is now, Cas," she points out, startled by the husky timbre her voice has taken on.

"It's nothing," he insists, not looking up at her, his own voice dropping at least an octave.

"He said you marked me," she whispers, swaying with the effort to remain where she is instead of going to the angel like her senses seem to scream for her to do.

"It's not what you think," he maintains, still staring down at the crate as his knuckles whiten under the pressure of his fingers gripping the wood.

"Then what is it?"

"It's added protection. Added strength. To keep you safe…from Azrael. And now…from Lucifer."

She sways again, actually taking a step towards the angel before she catches herself, trying to push through the muddied thoughts in her mind to focus on the questions she's needed to ask the angel for some time. Only the shred of realization that he's actually answering the questions he usually avoids allows her to hold onto her composure long enough to push out her thoughts.

"Why do the other angels make such a big deal out of it? What is it really? What is it doing?" She'd be proud of herself for getting those three questions out, if it weren't for the breathiness of her words.

Castiel finally looks up at her, and the moment his does, and she sees the fierce hunger in his narrowed gaze, her questions are forgotten. Her feet carry her forward even as he shoves aside the crate in front of him, toppling it into the wall with a crashing force, and then striding predatorily towards her.

Their chests collide with a painful impact, both fisting their hands in each other's hair as they fight for dominance in a kiss that is less passion and nearly bordering on punishment.

She hears the ringtone in her pocket signaling that Dean is calling her cell phone, and she struggles to remember why she should answer it. Only a lingering worry that he might come after her and discover her with Castiel is enough for her mind to reassert itself and remind her that she should leave.

But she knows she can't.

She grabs her phone, barely looking at the screen as she types a message to Dean, telling him that she's running down a lead with Castiel.

Despite her attention turning momentarily to her phone, Castiel's has remained focused on her, his lips moving along to her jawline when she turns her head, and then trailing heatedly down to her throat.

His teeth suddenly flash out, sinking roughly into her neck. The pain brings her focus back to him as she drops the phone, her hands sliding into his hair as she pulls his head back, exposing his own neck.

He groans, and her eyes narrow on the bobbing of his Adam's apple, luring her mouth to the moving flesh along the expanse of warm skin. Her lips seal over it, laving it momentarily before lightly biting it in return.

His gasp urges her on, spurring her into frantic action as she rips open his shirt and runs her hands up the skin of his chest.

"Tabitha," he moans, his hands yanking her blouse out of her dress pants as his hands span across her back, pulling her into his body as his hips grind against hers.

"We shouldn't do this," he raggedly tells her.

"I know," she moans in agreement, her lips moving down from his neck to latch onto one of his nipples. She swirls her tongue around it, lightly sucking the flesh into her mouth.

One of his hands slides from her back, slipping between her waistband and stomach as he demandingly pushes past her panties. His fingers cup and then curl into her, demanding entry as his hand and hips rock insistently against her.

Despite the dominating movements, his voice regretfully tells her, "We should stop this."

The possibility seems ludicrous to her. How can he possibly think about stopping now?

To show her displeasure at the thought, she bites down around his nipple, feeling the sharp tang of blood on her tongue.

He pushes her back, hand sliding from her back to fist in her hair, keeping her immobile when she would have returned to tasting his skin.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she demands harshly, "Can you really stop now? Do you really _want_ to stop now?"

"No," he growls, pushing her back until her legs collide with something.

Nothing around her matters. Only Castiel in front of her can hold her attention. And she returns to kissing his jaw, streaks of blood smearing against his neck as she nuzzles down to the junction of his neck and shoulder.

When she pauses to drag her teeth across the breadth of his shoulder, pushing the layers of clothing out of her way, he suddenly grips her, spinning her around until she's facing away from him.

The movement throws her off balance, forcing her to lean forward and grip one of the crates in front of her with both hands.

For a moment, she can only grip the crate as she listens to her heaving breath. Then, she feels Castiel press closer to her from behind, his chest rubbing against her back as he leans closer over her and breaths in deeply at the side of her neck, inhaling her scent.

As he starts to pull away, she reaches over her head with one hand, gripping the back of his neck with her fingers, and pressing him closer into the side of her neck.

"Don't leave me, Cas," she demands in a broken, breathy whisper.

She feels Castiel's hands slide around her hips again, working open the button and zipper of her pants.

"I can't," he just as raggedly answers, one hand dipping back into her panties to cup her between her legs, fingers entering her to slip between her folds.

She gaps and shudders all at once, shamelessly rocking against his hand to increase the friction.

"More. Now," she growls in a heated demand. Along with her words, she angles her chin towards her back, lips seeking out the flesh of his wrist where he's braced his other hand on her shoulder for leverage. She reaches up with the hand she isn't using to steady herself against the crate, trying to grab his arm to pull it around her body to her lips.

"You have to stop, Tabitha," he commands in a thick voice, pulling his arm back away from her seeking lips and teeth.

And when she starts to protest, he slips his hand from between her legs, clamping down over her forearms and dragging them both back to the crate, forcing her to bend over further and grip the sides of the crate to brace herself.

Before she can protest or move her hands from the crate to reach again for him, Castiel grabs her waist, pushing her pants and panties past her hips, even as he places his feet between hers and slides them further apart. With her legs thus trapped, she's forced to remain bent over the crate, her fingers clenching against the wood as she rocks back against his pelvis, trying to increase the friction and heighten the feelings rocketing through her body.

Between one breath and the next, he slips into her from behind, instantly setting a demanding rhythm, urged on by her ever-increasing groans for more.

His fingers dig painfully and punishingly into her hips, using his grip for leverage to pull her back against his hips with every hard thrust. Her forearms drop to the sides of the crate, using it to support herself and to push her hips back against him with equal fervor, meeting brutal thrust for brutal thrust.

As she feels her orgasm rapidly approach, she bends down further, pushing her hips back into him and tilting her pelvis to open herself more to him. The change in the angle of friction finally triggers her orgasm, and as she gasps and shudders beneath him, she can feel Castiel lean down over her, his mouth dropping to the side of her neck against the junction at the underside of her jaw. For just a moment, his lips hover against the skin, breathing in her scent deeply, but then, she pushes her hips against him, contracting her muscles and tightly gripping him.

The maneuver triggers his climax, and as it rolls over him, his teeth clamp down against her skin, sending another wave of pleasure through her as she undulates against the fresh waves of her orgasm. His teeth remain against her neck, grinding her skin between their sharp surfaces, even as his mouth latches against her skin, sucking gently it into his mouth.

They remain joined together as Tabitha leans all of her weight against the crate and Castiel leans almost bonelessly against her back. Neither can steady their breathing for a long time, their bodies continuing to rock together in a steady motion until finally their breath becomes slow and their bodies still.

When Castiel pulls away from her, she feels the loss briefly, but a satiated feeling washes over her, reminding her how good it feels to slake such a deep hunger.

She stands to slide her pants back up, her back bumping into Castiel's chest as she stands. He attempts to steady her, but is still so uncertain on his own feet, that they tumble backwards to slump on top of a row of low, closed crates.

Tabitha allows herself to collapse briefly against his chest before she sits up with a chuckle, running her hand through her hair to smooth the tangles, and buttoning her light blue silk blouse from where it had been pulled apart at some point.

"Mmm," she hums contentedly as she straightens her suit. "I love that serene feeling that comes with satisfying that kind of deep hunger."

Castiel is silent as he sits beside and behind her, remaining leaning back a bit while straightening his own clothing, but she doesn't mind his silence.

Raking her hand through her hair again to finger-comb it, she gently moans as she thinks aloud, "Mmm, now that one hunger is satisfied, I can't help but think how nice something sweet would be right now. Forget a smoke after sex; I'd kill for a piece of chocolate cake right now. An ooey, gooey, decadent piece of German chocolate cake would be _divine_ right now."

She looks over her shoulder as she hungrily licks her lips, and catches Castiel licking his lips as well.

"I have a craving for hamburgers," he tells her. His eyes close briefly as he adds a little dreamily, "With lots of that sauce from tomatoes on it."

With a grin, she asks, "You mean ketchup?"

At his fervent nod, she turns away to giggle, thinking his post-coital cravings of a hamburger seems a little bizarre, especially for an angel, but when she turns back to tell him, she finds that he's disappeared.

Now alone, and with her orgasmic bliss melting away, she finally has the presence of mind to feel more than a bit of shame for her wonton behavior. And more than a little fear as she touches her lips and finds a bit of lingering blood from her biting Castiel. Whatever was affecting the couple that… _consumed_ each other…she realizes has also been affecting her…and even to an extent, Castiel.

And according to the words of the cupid, _she_ hadn't been struck by his arrow, so something else had to be going on to make her act so…rabidly.

She shudders at the realization that she'd _bitten_ Castiel—drawing blood more than once—and that she wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't spun her around and given her something else to focus on and to sate her…hunger.

Her hand creeps up to the curve of her neck and jaw, finding the tender flesh and indentations of teeth there. He hadn't broken the skin the way she had, but clearly, he'd been affected by whatever is going on in this town as well.

With her hand over the tender flesh, she makes her way out of the storeroom, wondering how in the hell she's going to hide that mark from her brothers.

Not to mention, how they're going to figure out what's happening in this town before she does something _else_ inappropriate. Like mauling Castiel with an audience.

* * *

Sam makes it back to their motel room at the same time as Tabitha. And though they both look each other's rumpled and disheveled clothes up and down, neither makes any comment. Sam doesn't linger on the way Tabitha holds one hand over her neck and jaw, and she doesn't linger on the way he quickly moves away from her as they pass near each other going through the door of their room.

But Dean's eyes narrow on them as they step into the room, ineloquently telling them, "You both look like shit."

Sam mutters something as he drops the closed briefcase in his hand onto the bed, stiffly pulling off his suit to change into his street clothes.

Tabitha mutters in a similar fashion, snagging her bag and darting into the safety of the bathroom to avoid prying eyes under the guise of changing clothes.

She can hear Sam explaining his trip to the morgue and his resulting run-in with a demon, telling them how he came upon the briefcase he'd brought in.

Though she listens through the door, Tabitha doesn't add much to the conversation, instead, rifling through her bag and cursing herself for not having the forethought to own a scarf. Or a turtleneck. Of course, she hadn't anticipated getting such an obvious…hickey—for lack of a better word—that she'd have to hide from her brothers, either. Why hadn't she thought to plan for _that_?

She flips the collar of her leather coat up as she exits the bathroom, moving to stand a little closer to her brothers as they stare down at the closed briefcase on the table. Thankfully, their focus is on it and neither pays her any heed as she joins them.

"What the hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?" Dean wonders aloud.

Sam lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Believe me, I got no idea," he confesses.

"You okay?" Dean asks him, and Tabitha looks across her older brother to see that Sam does seem a little…shaky.

Their younger brother looks up and quickly nods his head, assuring them, "Yeah, yeah. I'll be all right."

Dean seems to accept Sam's words, and returns his attention to the briefcase, saying, "Let's crack her open." He glances back and forth between his siblings trying to lighten the mood by joking, "What's the worst that could happen, right?"

Tabitha lets out a doubtful snort, but watches as her brothers crouch lower to examine the locks of the briefcase, each pressing a release button.

As soon as they do, the briefcase springs open, a blinding light knocking them all back on their heels as they shield their eyes from the light that pours out of the suitcase.

Once the light finally dissipates, Dean demands, "What the hell was that?"

"It's a human soul," Castiel answers from behind them.

Tabitha immediately feels a surge of lust slam into her body, physically leaning towards the angel before she can force herself to turn away, maneuvering herself closer to Sam and behind Dean.

But Sam stiffens as she brushes against him, jerking away and walking as resolutely away from her as she had from Castiel.

Castiel continues speaking, telling them, "It's starting to make sense."

Tabitha peeks a look over Dean's shoulder, surprised at the sight of Castiel standing with a takeout bag of fast food, hungrily tearing into a hamburger on the other side of the motel room.

Now standing closer to Castiel, Sam demands, "Now, what about that makes sense?"

"And when did you start eating?" Dean wonders, worry touching his voice.

Castiel waves the hamburger at him, saying around a mouthful, "Exactly. My hunger—" His eyes suddenly dart to Tabitha, and she actually takes a step forward until she reaches out to place her hand against Dean's shoulder to stop herself. Castiel takes a deep breath before shoving the hamburger to his mouth again and tearing off another mouthful. "—It's a clue, actually."

In unison, the boys ask, "For what?"

Castiel takes a few steps closer as he explains, "This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect. It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact—specifically…Famine."

Tabitha bunches a handful of Dean's shirt under her palm, trying to use him as an anchor to keep herself from closing the distance between herself and the angel when he stops moving only a few feet away from the trio of siblings. Her legs press together and rub against each other as she fights the urge to go to Castiel, trying to force her mind to focus on his words, instead of the delightfully deep rumble that seems to purr in her ears.

"Famine?" Sam repeats, helping to center her thoughts a bit on what really matters. And whatever is creating all the strange occurrences in this town.

"A-as in the horseman?" Sam continues.

Dean sarcastically comments, "Great." Then glances over his shoulder at their sister with a frown. In response, she forces her grip to loosen on his shoulder, but doesn't remove her hand, for fear of what she might do without the anchor.

"T-t-that's freaking great," Dean continues.

Sam attempts to clarify Castiel's words. "I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food."

Castiel nods while still holding his own food. "Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something…sex—" His eyes dart again to Tabitha as he inhales deeply, and Tabitha's hand once again tightens against her brother's shoulder. "—attention, drugs, love…"

Dean's jaw dropped as he inaudibly groaned, turning out from under Tabitha's grip as he pries her fingers from his shoulder. "Damn, Tabby. Watch the fingernails." He spins further away from her, leaving her to wrap her arms around herself to keep herself planted where she is. Dean spares her another frown before turning his attention back to Castiel, saying, "Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that cupid shot up." He pauses to frown again at his sister before asking, "And what's your deal? You jonesing for a smoke or something?"

"Smoke…" she slowly repeats as the thought struggles to process in her mind. "Yeah," she readily agrees when she realizes Dean has provided her the perfect excuse. "This stupid nicotine patch just isn't cutting it on the cravings right now." She's actually surprised that she _hasn't_ been craving a cigarette. Just chocolate…and a certain angel. Maybe even a chocolate covered angel.

Castiel continues speaking around his burger. "Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them _rabid_ for it."

It's actually a bit of a relief for Tabitha to hear him say it. At least it doesn't mean that there's something going crazy with her that she actually _bit_ Castiel.

"Okay, but what about you?" Dean asks. "I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"

The angel finally pauses in his chewing, almost sadly looking down at the burger in his hands as he admits, "It's my vessel—Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat…and other things…has been touched by Famine's effect." He turns away as he completes his admission, as though embarrassed by it. But finishes by hungrily tearing into the burger again.

Tabitha feels her lust cool just a little as she considers his words, wondering how much of Castiel's earlier behavior had been his own…or if it had all been nothing but his human vessel's response.

Dean shakes his head, asking, "So, Famine just rolls into town and everybody goes crazy?"

After a dramatic pause, Castiel quotes, "'And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty…and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he _is_ hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air." Still facing away from them with his burger, Castiel continues, "Famine's hungry. He must devour the souls of his victims."

Dean glances at the briefcase, and Tabitha finds herself glad for the direness of Castiel's story. It gives her something focus on as she struggles for control.

"So, that's what was in the briefcase—the Twinkie dude's soul?" Dean asks.

The angel finally turns back to face them. "Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, make certain he'll be ready."

Sam asks the question on all their minds. "Ready for what?"

"To march across the land."

Finally feeling like she has some control over herself again, Tabitha takes a few experimental steps to loosen her bunched and gathered muscles, moving in a small circle as she thinks out loud. She's even able to mostly ignore the angel's movements as he sits on one of the beds. "Okay. So this is a bad thing. Very bad. But how do we stop Famine? Especially when he has this kind of effect on everyone."

Her circuitous route takes her by Sam, and when their arms brush against each other, Sam stiffens visibly before jumping away from her and hightailing it for the bathroom.

Dean and Tabitha both watch his retreat, but neither says anything for a moment, focusing instead on the matter of surmounting importance.

"Famine?" Dean seems to repeat to himself.

Though mostly rhetorical, Castiel feels the need to answer around another mouthful. "Yes." As he finishes the last of his burger, he looks almost mournfully at the empty wrapping.

From the bathroom, Sam asks, "So, what, this whole town is just gonna eat, drink, and screw itself to death?"

Tabitha leans to one foot to peer into the bathroom, her curiosity peaking a bit more to hear such crude words pass her younger brother's lips. He generally puts things more diplomatically, instead of sounding so crass like their older brother.

Still chewing, Castiel says, "We should stop it."

"No shit," Tabitha mutters, mind still on her younger brother as she turns back to the angel and her older brother.

"Exactly," Dean agrees. Then asks the million-dollar question. "How?"

"How did you stop the last Horseman you met?" Castiel replies.

Tabitha turns to Dean, deferring to him since she hadn't actually been there when Sam and Dean took War down. She wonders why she hadn't felt so affected by War, nothing like what Famine is doing, but she also remembers that War had been more intent on capturing her and presenting her as some kind of thank you gift to Lucifer.

"War got his mojo from this ring," Dean answers, walking to his jacket where Tabitha had placed it on a hook and pulling out the ring from a pocket. He holds the ring up in the air as he continues, "And after we cut it off, he just tucked tail and ran. And everybody that was affected, it was like they woke up out of a dream. You think Famine's got a class ring, too?"

"I _know_ he does," Castiel answers.

"Well, okay," Dean agrees. "L-let's track him down and get to chopping."

Castiel absently agrees while looking into his fast-food bag for anything else to eat. "Yeah."

"What are you, the Hamburglar?" Dean questions when Castiel continues thoroughly searching the bag for any speck or morsel of food.

Still in an absent way, Castiel replies, "I've developed a taste for ground beef."

"Well, have you even tried to stop it?"

Almost indignantly, Castiel insists, "I'm an angel. I can stop anytime I want."

"Whatever," Dean dismisses, turning to shove the horseman's ring back into his coat pocket. "Sam, Tab, let's roll."

Though she moves a little sluggishly, Tabitha nods and steps towards the door, looking over her shoulder as she waits for her brothers.

From in the bathroom, they hear the labored voice of their brother softly calling, "Dean…I, um…I can't."

Sam finally steps out of the bathroom, has face ashen and his movements stilted as he grabs the doorway to support himself. Barely able to look up at Dean, Sam tells him, "I can't go."

"What do you mean?"

Eyes darting towards their sister, Sam admits, "I think it got to me, Dean. I think I'm hungry for it…"

"Hungry for what?" Dean asks, looking back and forth between his siblings when Tabitha suddenly inhales in understanding.

Sam doesn't meet her eyes, but gives her a little nod to confirm her realization.

Shuffling his feet, he continues in low tones, "You smell even more like a demon now, Tab. It's taking everything I've got to stay away from you."

Tabitha's hand flies to cover her mouth, even falling back a step in shock at his pronouncement while staring at the threadbare carpet to hide her terror at the thought of what Lucifer's brand has been doing to her—even in the absence of him being able to use it to control her.

Dean spins a quarter of a turn to glance back and forth between the pair as they both avert their eyes anywhere but looking at each other.

"Demon blood?" he clarifies, struggling to keep his voice steady and still looking back and forth between them for confirmation. "You got to be kidding me," he continues to himself.

Turning to the angel, he tells him with an edge of desperation, "You got to get him out of here. You got to beam him to, like, Montana. Anywhere but here."

In a hard tone, Castiel informs him, "It won't work. He's already infected. The hunger is just gonna travel with him."

Harshly, Dean demands, "Well, then, what do we do?"

Sam answers. "You guys go cut that bastard's finger off."

With a stiff upper lip, Dean tells Castiel and Tabitha, "You guys heard him."

Sam interrupts to request, "But, Dean…before you guys go, you better…" Sam lets out a shaky exhale, tears in his eyes from the effort to restrain himself. "…you better lock me down. But good." His eyes dart again to Tabitha as he admits, "I don't wanna risk hurting Tab again."

Dean gives a nod, though his eyes are pain-filled as he does so. He turns to their sister and points to the door, telling her, "Cas and I'll take care of him. You get outta here so you don't make it any harder for him."

She gives a clipped nod, her eyes lingering on her younger brother for just a moment as she regretfully tells him, "I'm so sorry, Sammy."

When he jerks a stiff nod in answer, she returns it, and then strides outside to clear her head.

When Castiel and Dean stride out of the motel, the sight of the angel causes Tabitha's breath to catch, and from the way his nostrils flare and his fists clench, Tabitha realizes she's not the only one…hungry with lust.

She'd thought she'd managed to tamp it down, but the feelings return with a vengeance, until she's swaying on her feet from the effort to keep herself from flinging her arms around the angel. Even her teeth grind against each other with a longing to sink into the sweet softness of his flesh.

His mind still racing with worry for their younger brother, Dean fails to notice the way his sister sways and wraps her arms around herself as if holding herself together. His eyes are too focused on the ground in front of his feet, trying to focus on one step at a time as he announces to Tabitha and Castiel, "Well, since Twinkie dude's soul escaped, chances are more than fair that Famine's gonna be looking for another soul. So I say we go check out the morgue for another candidate."

He glances back over his shoulder when he realizes the angel has stopped following him, tilting his head at the way Castiel stands frozen in place, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Dude, you just chowed down on the last of your burger. Focus…let's go. There's no time to waste," he admonishes.

Rocking slightly in place, Tabitha announces, "Maybe we should split up, Dean. You and Cas take the morgue, and I'll find another ride and take a drive around town, see if I can't find anything out of the ordinary that way."

Dean turns to look at her, but catches sight only of her back as she strides determinedly away, pausing occasionally as she checks cars in the parking lot for one that will be the easiest to steal.

Knowing that she'll damn well do what she wants to do anyway, Dean shrugs and turns to the angel, reluctantly telling him, "Well, let's roll."

* * *

Tabitha opens the passenger door of the Impala and slides in beside her brother.

"You find anything?" he asks her, only glancing towards her before he returns to his vigil of watching the hospital.

"No," she sighs, leaning forward to look at the brightly lit building as well. Clearing her throat, she asks, "Cas was sure the doc's soul hadn't been harvested." Underneath her lust and cravings for chocolate, she still has the presence of mind to feel sorry for the death of the jovial coroner that drank himself to death since they last saw him.

In a distracted tone, Dean grunts, "Yeah."

She clears her throat again, looking almost suspiciously around the car before asking, "So, you don't know where Cas went?"

"No," Dean growls in a clipped voice, sitting back in his seat to look at her again. "We were headed back to the car and he just disappeared. Dude's acting weirder and weirder. And this whole eating thing? I gotta admit, it's really creeping me out to see him doing human stuff like that. Next thing you know, he's gonna be drinking and screwing women just like me."

"Yeah," Tabitha agrees with a distracted but relieved sigh, slumping back in her seat a bit. When Dean had called her for an update and to give his own, he'd insisted that she swing over to the hospital to rejoin him, but she'd only relented when he'd distractedly started calling for Castiel and then had admitted to her that the angel had poofed out on him.

Dean clears his throat, pulling Tabitha's attention back to him as he carefully asks, "So, you ah, haven't been too affected by all this, have you? I mean…you're not chain-smoking…binging on candy…getting your freak on…nothing crazy like everyone else in town's doing…are you?"

Tabitha forces her gaze straight ahead as she schools her features, and then shakes her head as she insists, "Naw. All good. Nothing I can't handle."

After a minute passes, she risks a glance in his direction, asking him, "What about you? I mean, everyone else seems affected, but you seem pretty calm."

He shrugs it off. "I guess. Must not be hungry for anything." But he pauses to size her up again, noticing the way one of her legs bounces in a steady rhythm, one of her old nervous ticks that he hasn't seen in a few years. Seeing it now, he decides to press, "But you _are_ feeling the affect? So how is it you're not binging on _something_?"

She glances a little nervously at Dean, knowing she can't tell him about her afternoon with the angel unless she wants to see him kill both her _and_ Castiel, so she somewhat honestly insists, "I'd love to binge on some chocolate right now, and it's driving me crazy that I can't. But I've got willpower." She grins then and gestures to herself. "You think this body came easy? It comes from _years_ ' worth of dieting and willpower in turning down chocolate when all I wanted to do was inhale a dozen candy bars or a whole pint of ice cream. I'm well practiced at saying 'no.'"

She laughs a little and it further eases her brother's worries, allowing him to return his attention back to the motel. But to herself, she realizes that while she'd long ago learned to turn down chocolate, she apparently hadn't ever learned how to turn down…other hungers.

The following silence in the car is suddenly broken when Castiel reappears in the middle of the back seat of the Impala, a paper bag crinkling loudly as he begins diving into it for another hamburger.

Dean turns to look at the angel, but Tabitha forces herself to stare straight ahead, one hand digging into her knee while the other clamps down on the handle of the door in a death-grip to control herself.

"Are you serious?" Dean exasperatedly asks the angel.

Mouth sounding full, Castiel answers, "These make me…" he chuckles a bit, "…very happy."

"Well, they're annoying as hell and they smell like grease," Tabitha snaps, her temper flaring as her body struggles against her waning willpower.

Dean glances suspiciously at her as Castiel suddenly becomes very still in the back.

In a low, harsh tone, Castiel growls, "It's this hunger…or the other." Warningly, he almost dares, "Which would you rather I feed?"

Tabitha sucks in a deep breath, torn between scandal at the notion of her brother sitting so close beside her…and that undeniable hunger that screams within her for its own vote.

Her head punches back into the headrest of the seat as she struggles to control her breathing and keep herself from launching into the back seat for what her body craves.

"HolymotherofGod," she exhales to herself in a rush. Blood races through her veins and the nerve endings in her body seem to tingle with the reminder of just what she could be feeling if only she lets go and lets Castiel feed both their hungers.

When she hears Castiel forcefully tearing into the burger again, she sits forward and claps both hands on her legs, leaning her head between her knees as she breathes deeply, trying to force that hunger away again.

"You alright, Tab?" Dean asks, worry in his voice.

"Yeah," she unsteadily answers, not looking up. Thinking quickly, she explains, "I, ah…just had a rush of craving…for a smoke. I'm good…I'll be fine."

Still frowning back and forth between the two occupants of his car, Dean settles on asking the angel, "How many is that?"

Around his food, Castiel answers, "I lost count. It's in the low hundreds."

Dean lets out a low whistle, glancing back at Tabitha when he sees her pushing back into her seat again, but rolls his eyes when he sees the lit cigarette between her lips, wondering where she'd had them stashed.

"What?" she snaps at his dark, disapproving look, blowing out a long exhale of smoke. Knowing what his next concern will be, she rolls down her window to waft the smoke outside. She growls at him, "It's one cigarette. When it gets into the low hundreds, _then_ you can be worried."

Dean suddenly seem to spot something, and grips the collar of her jacket, peeling it back from her jaw as he shouts, "What the hell is that?!"

She snatches the collar from his fingers, tugging it up around her neck and jaw again as she mutters around the cigarette in her mouth, "None of your damn business. What the hell do ya think it looks like?"

With his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, Dean imagines strangling whoever left the hickey with _teeth marks_ on his sister's throat.

In a low growl, he lectures her, "What the hell were you thinking? Do you realize that you could have ended up like that damn couple in the morgue that freakin' _ate each other_?!" He lowers his voice when he realizes he'd been shouting, but just as angrily demands, "Who the hell did that? And just _when_ the hell did that happen?"

Hand shaking from the effort to control herself, Tabitha removes the cigarette from her lips, her voice only shaking a bit as she reminds her brother, "We agreed a while back that we'd stay out of each other's sex lives, Dean. And I'm just fine. It's only a little hickey. Just forget about it."

"Hickeys don't come with teeth marks," he hisses in return, eyes focused on the steering wheel as he experimentally twists his clenched fists around it, imaging strangling the faceless man that marked his sister like that. Famine-crazed or not…Dean leaves no excuses for anyone hurting his sister in such a manner.

Under her breath, Tabitha mutters, "I did a helluva lot worse to him."

Dean jerks to stare at her, but shudders and looks away, deciding not to touch her statement as he returns to his fantasies of strangling the asshole responsible for the mark. He wonders if it's possible to get dental impressions or something.

In a bland voice, Castiel comments from the back seat, "What I don't understand is…where is your hunger, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean asks, returning his attention to the briefly forgotten angel in the back seat. Tabitha takes the opportunity to return to smoking, hoping that if she follows Castiel's example, she can burry one hunger well enough by satisfying another.

In the back seat, the angel continues his conversation with Dean. "Well, slowly but surely, everyone in this town is falling prey to Famine, but so far, you seem unaffected."

Dean shrugs a little and explains, "Hey, when I want to drink, I drink. When I want sex, I go get it. Same goes for a sandwich or a fight."

"So…you're saying you're just well-adjusted?" Castiel surmises.

"God, no," Dean argues. "I'm just well-fed."

Against her better judgment, Tabitha flippantly cuts in with, "And if you'd stay the hell out of my sex life, maybe I'd be well-fed, too."

Dean points at her and growls, "Pipe down, or I'm gonna find a freakin' iron chastity belt for you just like I knew I should have years ago."

From the back seat, Castiel mutters into his hamburger, "Wouldn't do any good."

Dean starts to look over his shoulder, wondering what the angel had muttered, but Castiel interrupts his thought, nodding towards the hospital and saying, "There."

They all turn to observe a tall man in a black suit, carrying an identical briefcase to the one Sam had swiped. The man carries the briefcase out to a waiting black SUV.

Eager for action of some sort to offer a distraction, Tabitha hums in excitement when Dean starts the car and turns to follow the SUV.

They follow it to a darkened Biggerson's on the edge of town. Although the restaurant is unlit inside, the parking lot is full and several men in dark suits mill around the entrance.

"This didn't seem odd to you?" Dean questions his sister with a raised eyebrow.

She flicks the last of her cigarette out the window as she confesses, "I didn't make it over to this side of town before you called me to come back and sit on the hospital with you."

He grunts and turns back to the restaurant. "Demons."

She glances in the same direction before agreeing, "Probably."

"You want to go over the plan again?" Dean asks the angel, referring to the very simple game plan they'd outlined as they followed the SUV.

When Castiel doesn't answer, the siblings both turn to glance into the back seat, finding the angel almost mournfully playing with the empty wrapper from his burger.

"Hey, happy meal," Dean snaps. "The plan?" he reminds.

Shaking out of his stupor, Castiel answers as he turns his attention to Ruby's knife in his other hand, "I take the knife, I go in, I cut off the ring hand of Famine, and I meet you back here in the parking lot."

"Well, that sounds foolproof," Dean comments with an edge of sarcasm.

At the answering silence, the siblings glance over their shoulders again, but find the back seat now empty.

The sight allows Tabitha to sigh in relief, her body finally able to uncoil a bit.

Noticing her slightly relaxed demeanor, Dean cautiously asks, "You alright now?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Just can't wait for this all to be over."

When a few moments pass and the angel doesn't return, they both begin to realize their "foolproof" plan may have gone awry.

"This is taking too long," Dean announces suddenly, grabbing a shotgun and spilling impatiently out of the Impala.

Tabitha hesitates, but takes a steadying breath and follows her brother, a sawed-off gripped between her own hands.

They ease through the back door of the place together.

"This is way too quiet," she whispers to Dean, feeling her heart rate increase with every forward step she takes.

Dean pauses in the kitchen and Tabitha steps around him to see what catches his eye. She grimaces at the sight of a dead body draped head first into the still boiling deep fryer.

"Cas!"

Tabitha twists to look the same direction Dean is, eyes automatically searching for the angel as her body demands that she go to him.

He's hunched over something on the ground in the main part of the restaurant, and it takes Tabitha a moment to realize he's devouring a pan full of raw hamburger.

Her stomach lurches a bit at the sight…and yet…her body is still enflamed, begging to go to him and feel his touch. Wanting him to devour _her_ that way.

Realizing the sick trap she's stuck in, she twists and slides to the ground with her back against the cabinets in the kitchen.

When Dean worriedly turns to her and crouches beside her, she vehemently shakes her head, insisting to him, "Go. Go on without me. You gotta do this, Dean. I can't go any further. I…I can't."

Her body begins rocking back and forth as she grips the shotgun across her drawn up knees, knuckles turning white along the hard barrel as she fights to keep from going to Castiel.

When Dean stares at her in worry and shock, she hisses, " _Go_!"

Dean jerks a nod, standing again and turning away from her.

Tabitha suddenly realizes that she hears a struggle, and manages to lift her head in time to see a demon jump her brother from behind…and another leaning down over her as his fist sails at her temple.

She's groggy as she feels herself being half led, half dragged into the main part of the dining area, her body being mostly supported by the demons on either side of her.

"The other Mr. Winchester…and Ms. Winchester," a weathered voice greets with a weak, but strangely happy lilt.

Tabitha shakes her head to clear it, looking up at the frail body in the wheelchair that belongs to the voice. He's dressed in a black suit as well, but sitting in the wheelchair and wearing an oxygen cannula, he hardly seems capable of wreaking the havoc he's been responsible for.

Beside her—and likewise restrained—Dean demands while jerking his head at Castiel, "What did you do to him?"

The frail, white haired man laughs in answer, "You sicced your dog on me. I just threw him a steak."

"So this is your big trick? Huh?" Dean asks, his voice unimpressed. "Making people cuckoo for cocoa puffs?"

"Doesn't take much—hardly a push. Oh, America—all-you-can-eat, all the time. Consume, consume. A swarm of locusts in stretch pants. And yet, you're all still starving because hunger doesn't just come from the body, it also comes from the soul."

"It's funny, it doesn't seem to be coming from mine," Dean replies.

"Yes," Famine agrees. "I noticed that. Have you wondered why that is? How you could even walk in my presence?" He lets out a wheezing chuckle. "Your sister doesn't seem able to."

Dean glances at his sister, noticing the way she's curling in on herself and rubbing her fingers against her palms, hardly even fighting against the demons that hold her.

Pushing worry for her aside, Dean nonchalantly replies, "Well, I like to think it's because of my strength of character."

Famine sighs. "I disagree." He suddenly wheels his electric chair closer, causing Tabitha to gasp and finally struggle in the grips of the demons holding her. Not so much to get away from them, but in an effort to rub her hands against her body, feeling like the nerve endings under her skin are almost crackling with electricity.

Dean groans as Famine reaches out and places a hand against his chest.

The horseman groans happily, "Yes. I see." He chuckles a bit. "That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink." He gives a full laugh. "Not even with sex."

He reaches out then, placing his hand on Tabitha as she writhes and groans unintelligibly under his touch. Laughter growing, the horseman happily continues, "So unlike your sister. She's so hungry. So desperate to fill her void…that pit in her soul, with the easiest substitutes…smoke…food… _sex_ …" His voice dips lower as she twists and convulses under his hand, and he leans closer to whisper in her ear, "But too afraid to actually reach out and satisfy that void with the only substance that will ever fill that hole… _love_."

"Get your damn hands off my sister," Dean snarls at the horseman, struggling against the demons holding him, keeping him from interceding to help his struggling sister.

Famine finally turns away from her, returning his attention to Dean as Tabitha slumps against the demons still holding her upright.

"Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother and sister," the horseman tells Dean, "lie to yourself, but not to me! I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just…keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already…dead."

"Bullshit," Tabitha heaves under her breath, drawing Dean's attention and the horseman's. A bit raggedly as she still pants, she manages to lift her head enough to look into her brother's eyes as she insists to him, "Screw him, Dean. Don't listen to him. We keep fighting…because we have to. We stick together. Someone has to keep fighting…if this world's even got a chance in hell at making it."

Famine laughs disbelievingly at her words. Lowly, he tells Dean, "You don't even believe in your own sister."

"Let them go," Sam suddenly demands, surprising both Tabitha and Dean with his sudden appearance as he strides through the front door behind Famine.

The horseman spins his electric chair to face their brother, almost reverently whispering, "Sam…"

Tabitha echoes the whispered call, her own voice mournful as she stares at her younger brother, red blood streaked down his chin as he stares the horseman down.

Dean too lets out a mournful call. "Sammy, no!"

The demons flanking Famine start after Sam, but halt when the horseman commands them to.

"No on lays a finger on this sweet little boy," the horseman warns.

Tabitha and Dean share an apprehensive look, but are still powerless to move.

Famine continues speaking to Sam, his entire focus on the youngest Winchester as he says, "Sam, I see you got the snack I sent you."

" _You_ sent?" he asks in disbelief.

The horseman rushes to assure him, "Don't worry. You're not like everyone else. You'll never die from drinking too much. You're the exception that proves the rule. Just the way…Satan wanted you to be." His voice is almost breathless with excitement by the time he finishes.

"So…" He gestures grandly at the pair of demons between them. "…cut their throats." The demons share startled looks. "Have at them!"

Dean immediately pleads, "Sammy, no!"

"You are stronger than this, Sam," Tabitha adds, still struggling with herself, but having to have the hope that if she can fight off her hunger for even a moment, then so can her brother.

Ignoring their protests, Famine continues to urge, "Please, be my guest."

Sam continues to breathe in an increasingly erratic manner, glancing between Dean and Tabitha before he closes his eyes and raises his hands, palm out.

As he begins to pull the demons from their meatsuits all at once, Dean pulls free and rushes to grab the knife on the floor beside Castiel. No longer being held upright, Tabitha can do no more than fall to her knees as she forces herself to remain in place, her body continuing to rock from the pain of the effort.

She doesn't look up as she hears bodies thud to the ground all around her, but does when she hears Sam defiantly utter, "No."

Seeming unfazed, Famine answers, "Well…fine. If you don't want them…then _I'll_ have them."

He lets out a gasp, and suddenly, the demon smoke that had previously pooled at the floor begins to rise up and swirl towards the frail body of Famine, rushing in through his open mouth.

Once finished, Sam strides forward, raising his hand towards the horseman.

"I'm a horseman, Sam," Famine reminds him. "Your power doesn't work on me."

"You're right," Sam agrees, not backing down. "But it will work on them."

He closes his fist as if to pull, and begins yanking the demons back out of the horseman, leaving Famine writhing in his wheelchair as Sam does so. With one last great effort, Sam yanks and the demons rush out of the horseman, leaving him powerless.

Tabitha immediately pushes up from the floor, the unrelenting hunger that had been carving a pit in her stomach disappearing as she rushes to her younger brother, dabbing at the blood now running from his nose.

Tears fill her eyes as she takes in his shaking body, noting the way he looks far too much like an addict on a bender for her taste.

She barely brushes the blood from under his nose when he grabs her arms and shoves her roughly away, his head dropping and his breathing still erratic as he snarls at her, "Dammit, Tabitha! Stay away from me!"

Dean sees the way Sam's hands clench into fists at his sides and he takes a step towards her, despite having pushed her away only a moment before.

He rushes to step between his siblings, grabbing Tabitha's shoulders and spinning her towards the now freed angel as he commands, "Cas, get her out of here. Now!"

* * *

Tabitha cringes as they listen to Sam screaming and shouting for help from inside Bobby's demon-proof panic room as he goes through the long process of detoxing.

Dean hadn't allowed her near their brother since the moment he'd grabbed her and thrust her at Castiel for the angel to poof her away, but she can still remember the crazed, hungry look that had been in Sammy's eyes even as he shoved her away.

She wants so badly for her little brother's hurt to be something simple like a cold or nightmare like when they were kids. Something she can fix or soothe by sitting with him and comforting him. It kills her that her presence now will do nothing but infinitely compound his hurt. It kills her that there's nothing _any_ of them can do to help Sam. And that all three of them are powerless to do anything but listen to Sam scream inside the panic room as brother, sister, and angel wait helplessly outside the iron vault, cringing as they listen to Sam's pain-filled pleas for help.

Dean stands separated a ways from Tabitha and Castiel as they lean with their backs to the iron panic room. Instead of standing with them, Dean chooses to lean against the base of the staircase, occasionally tipping back the bottle of whiskey he'd swiped from Bobby's stash.

At another prolonged scream from Sam and a loud crashing noise, Tabitha shudders and slides down the wall, her legs too weak to hold herself upright any longer. She falls to the floor and wraps her arms around her knees, her head slumping against her kneecaps as she tries to shut out the sounds of Sam's screams.

"That's not him in there," Castiel attempts to console the distraught siblings. "Not really."

"I know," Dean replies, his voice heavy from emotion and booze.

Tabitha doesn't reply or look up, but nods her head once to indicate that she at least hears his sentiment.

"Dean," Castiel continues, "Sam just has to get it out of his system. Then he'll be—"

In an exhausted voice, Dean cuts the angel off. "Listen, I just, uh…I just need to get some air."

Tabitha hears the heavy footsteps of her older brother fleeing up the stairs.

Not much later, she feels Castiel's hand drop lightly to the back of her head, his fingers just barely brushing against her hair as he suggests, "Perhaps you should get some air as well."

Stubbornly, she shakes her head, replying brokenly, "N-no, Cas. I c-can't just leave him all _alone_. He's still my little brother. I can't just _leave_ him."

She feels Castiel crouch beside her, and finally looks up into his concerned face.

His head shakes as he roughly admits, "I don't know how to ease your pain. I don't know how to right any of these wrongs."

She knows he's referring as much to the situation with Sam as he is about everything else that happened during the case with Famine.

Once freed from the grips of the horseman's hunger, Castiel had seemed particularly disturbed by his behavior, and more than concerned about what had happened between the two of them.

Truthfully…she was, too. Having never… _bitten_ someone until she drew blood…it's disturbing to say the least. And it admittedly further confuses the already complicated relationship between her and the angel.

"Tabitha! Please! HELP ME!" Sam again shouts from inside the vault, as if he knows she still sits outside the panic room.

She lets out a strangled cry and cringes once more, twisting away from the noise as tears fill her eyes.

There's nothing she can do for her brother to help him. There's also nothing either she or Castiel can do about what happened when they were under Famine's spell.

But the distance Castiel's been maintaining between them bothers her. Especially as she listens to her brother's pained cries.

Angling her body towards the angel, she grasps the lapels of his trench coat and lays her head against his shoulder, settling her nose against his neck as he tentatively wraps his arms around her back and slides to sit on the ground with her. He still acts afraid to touch her, as if _he_ had been the only one that had gotten so…carried away while they were under the influence of Famine's hunger.

"This is what I need right now, Cas," she sighs against his neck.

His arms tighten around her at her reassurances, and she feels a bit more whole. Feels that pit in her soul that Famine had talked about fill just a bit more as she settles in closer against the angel.

Softly, she whispers against his neck, "This is just what I need right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're back to our regularly scheduled programing with this chapter. :) I even have it out in a decent amount of time, if I do say so, lol. Actually, I'd really hoped way back when that I could have this chapter written up and done in time for Valentine's Day, but that last chapter really slowed me up and pushed back getting to the writing of this one. Oh well.
> 
> But you guys will have to let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> 10 points to anyone who knows who the alias is that Tabitha uses in this chapter. (Alicia Foster) Hint: remember, she uses the real names of famous actresses. :)
> 
> And as always, be sure to push that review/comment button and leave some love. Or constructive criticism. Or to point out any typos, etc. Mmm…or cake. Lol, if they could figure out a way to send cake over the internet, I'd take my props in Red Velvet. :)
> 
> Anyway, push the button! You know you want to!


	13. I've Got Nothing on My Mind

**Chapter 13: I've Got Nothing on My Mind**

"Mmm," Tabitha hums, pressing one last kiss to Castiel's lips before pulling away again.

Her lips tease upwards as she fights smiling when Castiel pouts almost boyishly, reaching for her hand when she tries to extract herself from his arms, backing up towards the door.

"I have to go," she tells him, her smile turning into a full laugh when his pout turns into a petulant frown. "Seriously, Cas. I _really_ have to go this time. No more, 'Just one more time.' If I'm gone much longer, the boys will wake up and wonder where I've been."

She'd already let Castiel pull her back into bed once when she'd started to leave, and then she'd turned back once after that when his disappointed scowl was too much to resist.

This time however, she knows she can't tarry again. Not even just to steal another kiss. Which she knows too well will only turn into more. Just like the previous two times.

"Perhaps you should finally tell your brothers what we've been doing," he suggest in a deep, but tentative rumble.

She pauses in picking up her leather coat from just inside the motel room door, but swings it over her shoulders before turning to face the angel. He's already fully dressed by the time she faces him. The way his clothing simply reappears in place is still something that baffles her…and makes her slightly jealous.

"Do you have any idea the shit storm that would start with Dean?" she replies, pausing to straighten his tie a bit. Finding it too out of character on the angel, she loosens it and cocks it to the side again.

"A 'shit storm' is a bad thing?" he asks, frowning as he stares at the floor.

"Yeah," she snorts, turning away again and pulling her hair out from under the collar of her black leather coat. "Think lots of plucked feathers," she suggests helpfully.

"If the world is going to plunge into the Apocalypse anyway, what do we have to fear from your brothers?" he asks, his voice taking on a dark, desperate note she's never heard from the angel before.

Stepping closer, she rests her hands on the angel's shoulders. "Hey," she sighs, trying to gain his attention. "We _will_ figure this out, Cas. We'll stop the Apocalypse. _Somehow_. You, me, _and_ my brothers. We'll find a way."

The angel averts his eyes, focusing instead on something over her shoulder as he works his jaw.

Before she loses her nerve, she asks, "Why the sudden urge to come clean with my brothers? I thought we'd settled into an easy routine of meeting up when we can both slip away from their notice, and keeping it under wraps. Why the desire to tell them now…about whatever this is we're doing?"

His jaw works back and forth as he silently grinds his teeth. And then his eyes drop down to the space at their feet as he whispers in confession, "I don't know. It just doesn't seem…right."

Tabitha slides her hands up and down the lapels of Castiel's trench coat, hoping the action will be enough to get him to look up into her eyes again. If she can just catch a glimpse of his eyes, she thinks she might have a clue about what's going on under that wavy brown hair.

When he still doesn't look up, she sighs and asks, "And just what would we tell them, Cas? I don't want to be that girl that gets needy and wants to know where things are going. Hell…I've _liked_ things the way they are. Undefined. But at the same time…the possibilities unlimited. I'm not sure I want to define it right now. If we define it…that puts an end to the possibilities."

Castiel frowns, his head dipping a little more as his shoulders hunch forward. "I don't understand your words," he finally tells her in a low mutter.

She sighs and removes her hands from the angel, taking a step back and finally biting the bullet. "If we told them about us, Cas, we'd have to tell them…what…we… _are_ to each other. And I just don't know. What _are_ we, Cas? Two bored people that just have sex together? Buddies just having fun with each other? Friends easing each other's loneliness?" She lets out a weary exhale before forging on. "Lovers? Are we something more? These are the things they're going to want to know. That _Dean_ is going to demand knowing. Is it serious? Is it going to continue?" She hesitates before asking the dreaded and all too clingy and stereotypical female question. "Where is this headed?"

The angel slides his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, letting out his own trepidatious exhale before finally looking up to meet her eyes. As if in answer to her questions, he replies, "I'm an angel."

The utter simplicity and absolute complexity of those three little words positively send Tabitha's temper through the roof. And she just barely manages to reel it in a bit as she twirls on her foot and marches towards the door.

Angrily, she throws back at the angel, "No shit, Sherlock! But that's kinda my point, too, Cas. We can't define what the hell we're even doing because we're too different, and if we can't even define it for _ourselves_ , then there's no way in hell that we can even _think_ of telling my brothers. So until that time, things stay just the way they are. In limbo."

She jerks the door open, but pauses in the doorway when she hears Castiel speak to her back.

"I regret that I have angered you. It was not my intention."

A little of the wind goes out of her sails because she knows from experience that he's being utterly honest. Suddenly, it's only sadness that fills her as she answers, "It never is your intention."

Remembering that he'd initially come to her because he was once more disheartened about being unable to find God, she pauses to tell him over her shoulder, "I'm sorry your search hasn't led you to God yet, Cas. And you know I'm always here for you. For a shoulder to lean on, a friendly ear to listen to you…" She sighs and truthfully admits, "…or anything else you might want. I'm here for you."

It seems demeaning somehow to admit that she'll take whatever little piece she can get of the angel. But after her confession to the Tin Man in Oz, she knows she can't deny it to herself any longer. Although she can admit to herself that she's fallen for the fallen angel, she knows love is a concept just a bit too foreign for him. Yet, regardless of knowing that and knowing the heartache she's setting herself up for, she knows she'll still take whatever scraps the angel will throw her way. Still bask in whatever time and attention he'll give her.

"I think I would have given up my search for God long ago if not for the simple faith I have in you," Castiel whispers behind her.

When she turns to look back at him, the angel has already disappeared.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Tabitha leaves the motel room she and Castiel had commandeered hours before, heading down the row of rooms for the one she shares with her brothers.

As they often do, the three siblings try to sleep in shifts when they can. With most motels only offering doubles as their largest rooms, it's the least…awkward arrangement for the siblings if only two sleep at a time. That way, the third is left as a lookout for the pair catching some shuteye. It also means that whoever is left awake can still concentrate on research if need be, so that no time is being wasted on a hunt.

Not that her brothers had been proving useful in the research _or_ hunting departments lately. The impending weight of the coming Apocalypse—and seeing Bobby so crushed after their last case, where he was _again_ forced to kill his wife when she came back from the grave as a zombie—was taking its toll on the boys, and before they'd fallen asleep in their room, they'd both been drinking heavily, littering the room with empty beer cans until they'd finally passed out.

For the most part, she guesses she can't blame their actions. They'd chosen to drink themselves into a stupor, and she'd chosen…other…more pleasant distractions.

But it had been hours since she slipped out of their shared room to sneak off with Castiel when he'd suddenly shown up looking for her. His eyes had been so pleading, that she'd silently taken his hand and led him from the room she shared with her brothers. But she knows if she doesn't hurry back, one or both of her brothers might wake up, and then she'll have a hard time explaining where she disappeared to instead of watching their backs while they slept off their hangovers.

The motel room door is slightly ajar as she approaches it. The sight raises every one of her hunter trained and FBI trained hackles, and she slips her Glock from the small of her back as she cautiously approaches.

She peeks into the room in a practiced movement, ducking her head back from the doorway in case someone sees the movement and takes a shot at the door. But all of her training goes out the window at the sight her quick glance gives her. Without another thought, she dashes into the room, throwing back the motel room door as she stares in horror at her brothers.

Their torn, bloody bodies lie lifeless on the two beds.

Movement at the corner of her eye startles her into reacting, and she pivots, swinging her Glock up to train on the shotgun bearing man stepping out of their bathroom.

He stares at her in surprise, his shotgun hanging loosely in his right hand as he gapes at her.

Before she can squeeze the trigger, another arm reaches around her from behind, slamming a fist into the underside of her arm and forcing her hand upwards as a shot rings out and her bullet fires uselessly into the plaster ceiling.

She struggles with the attacker she'd foolishly allowed behind her when she'd carelessly rushed into the room, but is soon overpowered, and her gun is wrestled from her grip by the gun-toting man in front of her that had dashed forward to help his friend.

Even with her arms pinned behind her back, she promises the strangers in a snarl, "I'm gonna kill you, you son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill the both of you for this!"

The man behind her sighs, and almost regretful sound.

"You weren't supposed to come back until we were gone, Tabitha. We watched you leave with that other guy, and figured you'd be gone all day. We even waited a few hours just to make sure you weren't coming right back. I never wanted to have to kill you, too."

The voice behind her is familiar, and Tabitha strains and twists in his iron grip to look over her shoulder at him. Though the face isn't familiar, she finally places the voice as one of the hunters that she'd helped over the years as favors to Bobby. She'd talked on the phone with him several times when he needed help from a friend in a "high place."

"Roy?!" she exclaims in surprise. "Why the hell… What would you do this for?!" she demands, struggling even harder to get away from him, almost sickened to think that someone she knows—even if only over the phone—has killed her brothers.

The other man in front of her—she can't remember the name of the man Roy usually hunts with—tells Roy, "She'll be no different than Dean, man, you know that. We can't let her live, either. I don't want to be looking over my back, watching out for her any more than I'd want to be looking out for Dean."

She feels Roy jerk a stiff nod behind her, and then he whispers sorrowfully in her ear, "I'm sorry this had to be done, Tabitha. None of this is how we intended it. We just meant to get Sam for starting all this mess."

"Then you two were idiots if you thought Dean and I would take this lying down," she snarls in heated promise.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice catching a little.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be," she assures him with every fiber of her being.

The glint of light on a knife blade flashes before her eyes before a burst of pain spreads across her throat. The hands restraining her let go, and she falls to the threadbare carpet, gripping at her neck. Reflexively, her throat works, the innate will to live overwhelming as it struggles to draw air into her lungs and push blood to her brain. But that thick fluid slides down her esophagus instead, filling her lungs with its heavy weight. As her vision darkens and the frantic sensation of drowning overcomes her, she mentally lets out a desperate plea for Castiel.

Knowing it's the end, and needing to see him just one last time.

He fills her vision as he rolls her onto her back, his hands pressing to her throat in a vain attempt to stem the blood now slowing to a trickle down her neck.

Weakly, she grips one of his blood-slicked hands in hers. There are so many things she wants to tell him. So many things she wishes she could say.

And in the moment, she finally has the courage to tell him that she loves him, she has no voice to speak those words.

His lips move frantically as he bends over her, pressing his face close to hers, but all she can hear is the ever-slowing rush of blood in her ears.

As death steals even her sight, the image of his mouth frantically repeating something fades into darkness.

* * *

"Come on, Dean! You throw like a girl," Tabitha taunts, the bat over her shoulder swaying back and forth a little as she waits for Dean's next pitch.

Dean frowns and narrows his eyes before firing the baseball right past her. Though she swings at the pitch, she misses, and scowls at the smug look on his nineteen-year-old face in return.

Sam shakes his gloved hand, making a pained grunt before he admonishes his older sister. "Come on, Tab. Stop taunting him. I'm the one paying the price." He stands a bit from his crouch to throw the ball back to Dean, pausing to whine, "When's it going to be my turn, Tabby? I wanna bat, too." He pauses to glance up at her taller height before reluctantly crouching back down, glove at the ready. She's only a few inches taller than he is since his last growth spurt, and she has the feeling that he's not yet done growing.

Tabitha swings her bat loosely over the bare patch of dirt they've cleared off as home plate before answering him. "Just one more pitch, Sammy. I was late on that last one. But I'll get it this time."

With her bat at the ready, she waits for Dean to pitch again, daring him with her eyes to try that fastball _one more time_.

As Dean winds up to pitch, his body suddenly freezes…and a familiar angel appears behind him, stepping around Dean's frozen form. She glances back to see that her younger brother is still frozen in a crouch as well.

For a minute, Tabitha frowns in confusion. Wondering first what the hell Zachariah is doing in her dream of playing baseball with her brothers in a country field when she'd been 15. Then she stiffens as she wonders just how the hell the angel was even able to _find_ her in her dreams. No angel should be able to between her carved up ribs and charms. Castiel can't even do that now unless she invites him into her dreams.

Baseball bat still on her shoulder at the ready—the same bat they always kept in the trunk, though they'd only once played baseball with it—she nonchalantly pops a hip out and asks, "Can I help you? Or did you just randomly happen upon me in my dreams while out for a stroll?"

The angel holds his arms behind her back. His posture is calm and cool, but it's the smug look on his face that makes her nervous, forcing her to slowly back up a step.

"A dream?" he snidely laughs. "That's what you think this is? Somehow, I think you know better."

Her own false smile slips from her lips as a memory flashes in her mind's eye. The image of a knife swinging towards her throat. The sensation of drowning in a warm fluid and not being able to breathe. And then a flash of memory…Castiel's frantic face filling her vision. Of her holding one of his hands…slick with…her blood.

The bat slides from her shoulder as she feels her muscles slacken. She even falls back another step in shock before she catches herself. "I'm dead?" she whispers, almost forgetting the angel still ambling closer to her, as if he's on a Sunday stroll.

"Sure are," he tells her, his voice too chipper for the realization she's having.

Looking back at the angel, she asks in shock, "I'm in Heaven?"

"Well, this isn't Disney World," Zachariah snippily tells her. "Not much different than Hell, actually. Just as teeming with demons. And an even worse kind of torture than they offer in Hell. Children."

She frowns at him before admitting, "I'm just surprised to end up here, I guess."

Zachariah finally stops in front of her as he stares down his nose. "Thought you'd end up in Hell? Well, we had to pull some strings to make sure you ended up here. Took some doing because of that little brand of yours to ensure you came here instead."

Avoiding Zachariah's gaze, she mumbles, "Gee, thanks. Not sure this is any better." She absently rubs her fingers against her chest, feeling Lucifer's brand still emblazoned on her chest, even in Heaven.

A gleeful satisfaction fills the angel's voice as he assures her, "Oh, it's much worse. You think they know torture in Hell? They've got nothing on what I'm going to do to you."

Swallowing thickly, Tabitha begins backing cautiously away. "Sure that's a good idea? I mean, what would your daddy say about you torturing folks in Heaven? I mean, I'm here, shouldn't I get my little piece of Paradise and be left alone?"

The angel's hand shoots out towards her, palm facing her, and then closing his fist and making a yanking motion back towards himself. As if he'd actually reached out and grabbed her, Tabitha's backwards retreat is brought to a halt, and though she doesn't move her feet, she flies through the air until she's standing back in front of the smirking angel.

Her breathing becomes shallow pants as she fights her rising panic. She wonders if it's because she's dead that the angel suddenly has such control over her now. He certainly hadn't been able to yank her around when she'd been alive and on Earth.

Seeing the fear and question in her eyes, Zachariah laughs and informs her, "You're on my turf now, you mewling little bag of puss."

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm, she holds her head high and asks, "Isn't this _my_ little patch of Heaven? If you angels get to jerk people around in Heaven like this, I'm seriously rethinking my decision to retire here. You should think about at least disclosing that in the brochures."

The balding angel lets out a sinister laugh. "You think this is your personal Heaven? Guess what…you ain't got your own Heaven anymore." He waves his hand at the two images of her teenage brothers, and they disappear with a wave of the angel's hand. "Unlike other mortals, your Heaven is gone. Instead, you get to stay with us angels."

She tries to step back again, but still can't move.

"Why?" she asks, trepidation filling her.

"'Cause you're just chock-full of Grace," he laughs. "You're not exactly human enough to get your own Heaven anymore."

She glances down at her chest, confused at how her brand could have done something like that. She'd figured it would send her to Hell if she died. And hadn't Zachariah just said something to that affect?

"Look, I don't know if this is some kind of strange come-on, or what. But I'm not interested. So why don't we just go our separate ways," she tells him.

His eyebrows rise comically as he theatrically tells her, "Ewww. I have _no_ interest in banging some scrawny human like you."

"Then what the hell are you talking about? Because you're not making a bit of sense here, Zach," she snaps. Anger is better to hold onto than the fear creeping in.

The angel strolls around her, looking at her curiously before he stops in front of her. "You really don't know, do you?" he asks, thoughtfully scratching his chin.

He laughs a bit then. "Oh, this is just rich. Castiel didn't tell you. Didn't explain to you that by accepting his Grace, you were giving up your little piece of Heaven. That for a bit of strength on Earth, you were losing your own piece of the pie up here."

The air rushes from her lungs as if the angel had sucker punched her. "His Grace?" she repeats. "What are you talking about?"

Zachariah's hand darts out, roughly grabbing her wrist and twisting it around until the bracelet against her skin fills her vision. The angel wing charm in particular holding her attention.

"You don't have a Heaven anymore," the angel once more tells her, that smug satisfaction ever-present in his voice. "At least, not one where you can hide from us." He snaps his fingers, and three of his henchmen angels appear behind him. "Because of this little charm, I can now find you anywhere in Heaven. And command you just like any other angel."

He releases her wrist then, and she tugs it back to rub nervously at the skin where he'd twisted her arm.

His hand comes out towards her again, palm open, and then twisting in the air as the breath leaves her lung and pain twist her insides, forcing her to her knees as she chokes back a scream of agony.

Over the pain, she hears him smugly inform her, "And as you can see, by accepting that Grace, I can now inflict pain on you as if you were any other grunt angel. Only…you're still not an angel. You're already dead. So I can do this forever. It never has to stop."

The pain spreads through her body, causing muscles to spasm and twist uncontrollably. Part of her knows it's not really muscles that spasm since she's dead and bodiless, but the sensation is similar. Just…much worse than anything she could have imagined. The pain slowly builds, until she can't hold back the screams, and writhes helplessly on the dirt, back arching painfully away from the ground. Tears stream down her cheeks as the pain seems to seep into her very soul.

She'd thought what Lucifer had done to her had been excruciating and beyond what any simple human could survive.

But that had been pain of the physical embodiment.

With no body to strictly speak of, it's her soul that's now radiating pain. Radiating agony. Pulsing with sensations and feelings of torment that no words have yet been invented by poor, feeble mortal understanding.

Some of the pain recedes, and Tabitha looks blearily through tear-soaked eyes as she sobs on her back, the wavering image of Zachariah filling her sight as she weakly tries to shrink away from the angel.

"Now that you've seen just a taste of what's in store for you…" He trails off, distractedly looking at the backs of his hands and fingernails. "Well, now that you've had a preview, tell me… What are those meathead brothers of yours up to?"

"What?" she croaks, rolling onto her side and curling her knees protectively to her chest.

"They're dead, too. Try to keep up," he snaps in annoyance. "What I want to know, is why are they running loose around Heaven? What's their plan?"

"How should I know? I've been here with you!" she shouts weakly in return.

The pain swells again, causing her to scream and beg him to stop.

When it dissipates again, Zachariah scolds, "I'd watch that tone of yours. I'm running out of patience."

Still silently crying, she desperately reminds him, "Look, I've been here with you. I don't know what they're doing. But let me go and I'll go find them."

He grins at her suggestion. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Think you'd be able to slip away from me somehow, don't you?" he sneers. "And while there's no way you can, you're still not going anywhere. We _will_ catch your brothers. It's just a matter of time. And I'm thinking that having you as leverage might be a good idea. I have underestimated those flannel-wearing slugs in the past. But that's not a mistake I'll be making again."

The angel leaves her on the ground, turning and speaking with his goons in Enochian.

After a moment, the angel turns back to her. "Now, while they're scouring Heaven for Rocky and Bullwinkle, what can you and I do to pass the time?" he taunts, a dark gleam glinting in his eyes. "Oh, I know," he says with false cheer, "I can take my frustration for the Winchesters out on the most convenient one at hand."

* * *

Hell would be a welcome reprieve, Tabitha thinks to herself when the pain finally stops. A nice little spa vacation. At least compared to what Heaven turns out to be like.

Zachariah turns his attention from her, listening to his goons as they tell him something urgent.

When he turns back again, he flicks a hand at her, and she suddenly finds herself removed from the ground where she'd been writhing in pain for hours…maybe even days… Instead of the dirty ground, she's now handcuffed to a metal chair, her surroundings shifting instantly from the field of her torment, to a small room with sterile, white walls.

"Don't go anywhere," he laughs to her. "Not that you can. I think we've finally found your wayward brothers."

His laughter fades as he disappears, leaving her with two of his goons standing silent guard in the stark, brightly lit room.

For a few minutes, she savors her reprieve from pain, letting her head fall back against the chair as she closes her eyes and basks in feeling _nothing_. She'd never realized before just how…absolutely fantastic it is…to feel… _nothing_.

She glances at the silent angels. "You guys know how to speak, or you just grunt at each other?"

They exchange glances, but otherwise, don't move.

"Do I even get a phone call or anything? Maybe a last request? How about trip to Disney World? Even if it's overrun with demons like Zach said, they're a helluva lot more fun than you guys."

Still, silence.

She takes in their identical black suits and sunglasses.

"You guys get a discount on the Men in Black look? Or were you going for Blues Brothers? 'Cause you missed the mark. Even Tommy Lee Jones has more humor than you guys. And he _may_ actually be older than you two."

More silence.

Her head falls back again. "Great…silent, and dumb," she mutters. "Demons are definitely more fun."

She uses the silence to consider her current predicament, glancing once more at the angel wing charm on her bracelet. She shakes her head as she tries to reconcile that small silver charm with everything Zachariah has told her. Is it really possible that somehow that charm has given her some of Castiel's Grace?

He's been weaker, she remembers. Unable to heal others now, and many of his other powers had seemed to be waning as well. Sending them into the past to save their parents from Anna had nearly wiped the angel out. She suddenly recalls that he'd momentarily stalled out actually in trying to send them into the past, and he'd only managed it when she had reached out to grab his arm when he'd looked to be in pain.

Thinking back, she realizes that several things should have tipped her off after he'd given her the charm months ago in New Orleans. Though she hadn't put it together before, she realizes that from that moment on, she'd been hungry—starving— _all the time_. She'd chalked it up to nerves about the impending destruction of the universe thing again, but she hadn't put on a single pound, no matter how much she ate.

Then there was that blue light that had spilled out of her when Anna had stabbed her…with an angel blade. An angel blade. Blue light that had spilled out, similar to what it looked like when an angel was stabbed. It had to be…their _Grace_ spilling out, she suddenly understands. Castiel _had_ given her some of his Grace.

But why? Why would Castiel do that if it has such dire consequences for her? If it meant the loss of her…Heaven?

Head still leaning back against the chair, she mutters to herself, "Goddammit, Cas. What the hell did you do to me?"

He had to have known what he was doing. Ever angel that had seen that charm since…they'd all known, she suddenly sees. That had been the strange glint in their eyes when they looked at her…pity…for her utter cluelessness about what was happening to her. Pity for what Cas had done to her.

Her respite from agony is short lived. And when Zachariah returns, he's more fuming than ever. His hands clamp painfully over her arms on the chair, his fingers digging in as he leans over her, his face inches from hers as he snarls in her face.

"Where are they? Where do those flannel wearing, rejects of humanity keep disappearing to? Who's helping them?"

She leans carefully into the back of the chair, swallowing nervously as she reminds him, "I don't know. I don't know who's helping them or how. I'm stuck here. With you."

He pushes back on the chair, tipping it back on two legs and balancing her precariously as he dangerously warns, "If I find out you know who's helping them…what I've already done will seem like a picnic. I'm just getting warmed up." He pauses before barking at her, "Think! It has to be someone in Heaven. Someone is helping them disappear and jump from Heaven to Heaven without so much as leaving a trace. Who's helping them?"

Shaking her head, she tries to think. "Cas is the only one I'd know of that might know how to help them up here."

Zachariah roughly slams her chair back onto its four legs, the jolt shaking Tabitha. "It's not him!" he snaps, circling away from her. More thoughtfully he continues, "Or at least not alone. It's someone here in Heaven. And Castiel can't come here since he's siphoned off most of his remaining Grace to you."

To herself, Tabitha mentally berates the angel for doing so and getting her into this mess to begin with. But she tries to remain calm, telling the angel in front of her, "It could be anyone. Unfortunately, we probably know more dead people than live ones."

Zachariah turns to wordlessly growl at her, but at least he isn't hitting her with a whammy of pain. She'll take her blessings where she can get them at this point.

Wanting to keep him talking, she asks, "What is it you plan to do with me? Keep me here in this little room forever? You can't torture information about my brothers out of me when I don't know anything about where they really are."

The balding angel stops to glare at her. "Like I said earlier, cupcake, we'll find your brothers. It's only a matter of time. And then…I'll tear you to pieces if I have to. Bit by bit. I'll scatter the shreds of your soul across the universe until those two bozos finally see the light and say 'yes' to Michael and Lucifer." He chuckles darkly a bit before he confides to her like a fifteen-year-old girl telling a secret, "Well, actually, I'm going to do that anyway…even after they say 'yes.' Have to really. To make sure that Azrael doesn't resurrect you and force your hand to say 'yes' to her. She can be nearly as persuasive as me. And _me_ , well, I just really don't like you Winchesters."

He stalks angrily around the room, that fury building on his face as he rants, "Let me tell you something. I was on the fast track once. Employee of the month _every_ month—forever. I'd walk these halls, and people would avert their eyes!"

She flinches at his scream, but can't struggle out of her confinement. And she's tried. Heavenly handcuffs are apparently unslippable and unpickable.

"I had respect!" he continues shouting, pausing to bend over her chair, lowering his face into hers again. He calms himself with an effort, standing again and straightening his tie with a visible effort.

"And then they assigned me the three of _you_." With a self-deprecating laugh, he continues, "Now look at me. I can't close the deal on a couple of pathetic, flannel-wearing maggots and their blond bimbo sister? Everybody's _laughing_ at me. And they're right to do it." He shakes his head then as he tells her, "So…whether they say 'yes,' don't say 'yes.' I'm still gonna take it out on you. And on their asses when I get ahold of them. It's personal now. And the last person in the history of creation you want as your enemy is _me_. And I'll tell you why—Lucifer may be strong, Azrael may be unflinching, but I'm…petty. I'm gonna be the angel on your shoulder for the rest of eternity."

As desperation and the sensation of damnation creep in, Tabitha looks away. Softly she implores, "Then just do it. Do whatever to me and be done with it. Why drag it out?"

"Because I'm petty," he pointedly reminds her. "And not until the chuckleheads do their part," he warns. "I'll inflict pain on you from here to the end of the universe if that's what it takes to convince them. _Then_ we can discuss putting you out of your misery. Once I've had my fill."

Again, Zachariah's goons approach him, speaking to him in Enochian.

"Finally!" Zachariah exclaims in triumph. Turning to her, he gleefully says, "We have their location." He approaches her and clamps a hand over her shoulder, telling her, "This time, I'm bringing the leverage with me."

When she reopens her eyes, she finds her brothers standing across from her in a faintly familiar house. It takes her a minute to process their current location and match it up to the fuzzy memories of a two-year-old. Their home. Before their mother died. Or at least, a sinister version of it. The whole house is cast in a strange greenish light and shadows.

Dean takes a startled step towards them when he spots her, softly crying out, "Tab?! What are you… You're dead, too?" They both start towards her, but are suddenly restrained in the arms of Zachariah's ever-silent henchmen.

She flinches at the way Zachariah's fingers dig into her shoulder, but it's still nothing compared to the pain he'd inflicted earlier.

Forcing a little smile, she explains to her brothers, "Yeah. I think it's definitely time we unfriend Roy. And that asshole buddy of his." She shakes her head and jokingly adds, "Plus, we really need to look into other retirement communities. They don't even have shuffleboard here. But I hear Disney World is a fun, demon-filled alternative."

"Well, isn't this a _touching_ reunion," Zachariah mocks, fingers digging further into her shoulder in warning. "But that's not what I brought her here for."

"Look, just let Tabitha go," Dean warns, jerking a nod at her. "Let her go back to her own Heaven…and we'll talk."

Before she can warn him to offer no such thing, Zachariah flicks his hand at her, silencing her even as heavy chains appear around her wrists. The weight of them bows her back, forcing her to bend forward at the waist, and effectively trapping her in place. It's a bit melodramatic since she knows full well that she can't flee the dickhead angel now anyway.

Said angel explains to her brothers, "'Fraid not, Dean-o. Your little sister's not going anywhere now. As they say, her ass belongs to _me_ now. There's no Heaven up here for her to return to. Just endless years of torment. At my hands."

"What do you mean she doesn't have a Heaven, dickwad?" Dean demands. But to himself, he tenses with worry. Castiel had told them to search for her, but he'd never answered them about what she was doing in Heaven or why he'd seemed so frantic for them to find her. And Dean had seriously been holding onto the hope that the angel had been wrong and she wasn't up here in this mess. But even Ash hadn't been able to find her when they'd looked for her. It really was like her Heaven…just didn't exist.

Tabitha scowls at Dean's question and looks down, not sure herself how to explain it.

Zachariah circles back to her, sliding his hands across her shoulders with far too much familiarity as he explains, "Humans that accept an angel's Grace don't get Heavens. Oh, they might be more powerful on Earth because of it. But, come on…you know there's nothing in life that doesn't have its drawbacks, too. And hers? An eternity of torment at the hands of me and every other angel that's pissed off with you Winchesters and Castiel. With nowhere to hide. No paradise. She comes straight to mission control with us."

She can feel her brothers' incredulous eyes on her as she stares at the floor.

"Cas?" Sam guesses, his voice thick with emotion.

She shrugs and when she still can't speak, looks up to silently mouth, _I guess_.

Seeing that he has their attention, Zachariah presses his advantage, grinning as he gestures back at her and taunts the boys, "That is, unless you want to save her. If you do…I'll let her go. Let her walk away right now…if…you say 'yes' to Michael and Lucifer."

Dean and Sam share pained and worried looks.

"Eeeggghhh!" Zachariah exclaims in an exaggerated game show buzzer noise. "Too long."

He flicks his hand at Tabitha again, her body falling to the floor in a heap as the pain rolls through her body once more. She can hear her brothers screaming at the angels, and struggles to hold back her own cries of pain, wanting to be strong in front of them. But the pain soon proves too much, and her mouth falls open as their childhood home echoes with the screams and shrieks of her agony.

She can feel her body shaking and convulsing spastically as she twists and turns, trying to instinctively flee the torment somehow.

The pain suddenly stops, and Tabitha twists her head on the floor, craning her neck through her exhaustion to see what the angels and her brothers have turned to stare at.

A meek angel stands off by himself. Even his vessel of a black man fits the meekness of his voice as he softly asks, "Sir?"

Annoyed, Zachariah gestures around at the three siblings. "I'm in a meeting."

"I'm sorry," the new angel apologizes. Then, he gestures to the siblings. "I need to speak to them."

Zachariah looks doubtfully at the Winchesters before stalking closer to the other angel. "Excuse me?"

"It's a bad time, I know. But I'm afraid I have to insist."

Zachariah scoffs. "You don't get to insist jack squat."

"No, you're right," the angel amiably agrees. His tone hardens a bit as he continues. "But the _boss_ does. His orders."

"You're lying." But there are the beginnings of fear and doubt in Zachariah's voice.

"Wouldn't lie about this. Look…fire me, if you want. Sooner or later, he's gonna come back home. And you know how he is with that whole 'wrath' thing."

Zachariah looks dubiously between the Winchesters and the other angel, a wave of sheer frustration coming from the irate angel.

"Fine," he growls, gesturing to where the boys stand, still being restrained by his goons. "You can have them. _She_ is mine. This may be _their_ Heaven, but _she_ doesn't have one anymore."

He snaps his fingers and she reappears with Zachariah and his angels in the white torture room they'd previously been in.

The chains are gone, but she knows she can't run, and falls back against the floor with a sense of futility and doom.

A new voice suddenly shouts something in Enochian, and as she looks up, she sees a stranger in a colorful mask and blue cape finish drawing something in Enochian sigils on the previously pristine, white walls.

The sudden flash of light momentarily blinds her, and when she opens her eyes, the stranger is alone in the room with her, shaking her and tugging on her arm to drag her to her feet.

"Come on. I'm here to rescue you!"

However strange her rescuer appears, she's not about to hesitate or turn him down.

She stumbles after him as he leads her to a door with more sigils drawn on it, following him as he dashes through, still tugging on her hand.

He slows as they enter yet another house, and Tabitha pauses to give the somehow familiar place a cursory glance before turning to her strange rescuer.

The stranger pulls his mask off, revealing a lean face that matches his skinny body. And a long full mullet that would do any redneck proud.

And he's completely unfamiliar to her.

"Who are you?"

The man puffs up proudly, announcing, "I'm Ash."

Her eyebrows rise as she stares at him.

Seeing no recollection, he continues, "I know your brothers. I figured they'd of mentioned me…even if you haven't had the pleasure yet of knowing me."

She laughs a little at the innuendo and shakes her head at his audacity, but she does finally place him. "Ash…like from the Road House?"

He strikes a pose that one of those fake wrestlers on TV are so fond of—hands on his hips…or maybe it's a pose like some kind of superhero. "The one and only," he proudly assures her.

Ash quickly drops the pose and starts through the house, looking for something as he explains to her, "Look, we don't have a lot of time. Those angel boys seem to have it bad for you, so we should get this place protected quick so they can't enter."

In the kitchen, he finally comes upon a permanent marker, and begins drawing large symbols on the ivory painted walls.

"You can do that?" she asks, hope bleeding into her voice. Maybe there's a chance for her to stay out of Zachariah's grasp yet.

"Sure," he agrees, pausing to look over his shoulder. "How do you think I keep them boys out of my Heaven?"

He throws her a blatant look up and down as he speaks admiringly before returning to his work, "Those boys sure never did you justice though. You're one damn fine looking woman. Too bad we never had a chance to meet up down below. Get to know each other. Maybe in the biblical sense."

Fighting to hold back a cough, she shakes her head and mutters to herself, "Yeah. Too bad." No matter how…unlikely such a thing would have been, she's not about to tell him that while he's helping her. He may be brilliant like her brothers had mentioned, but he also appears to have the craziness they'd commented on in spades as well.

But if crazy is what keeps those angels from finding her, who's she to argue with it?

"What the…" Ash trails off in surprised exclamation.

Tabitha spins back towards him to see the very wall he'd been writing on is slowly disappearing.

"What's happening?" she asks him, striding closer.

He jogs past her and towards the front door.

"I don't have a clue," he tells her, his voice tight, telling her he's not used to not knowing.

He pauses at the door to continue, "Look, we've got to get out of here. I'm not sure what those feathered boys are doing to this place, but we've got to find you somewhere else to hide."

With urgency, he yanks open the door, but instead of striding though it, falls back a step, the door still held open by one hand.

Tabitha comes closer to see what has him looking so spooked.

Memories lay outside the door before her. Memories of her brothers from the past, and dreams of things that hadn't come to pass—and now never will—lay outside the door in a twisting, twirling scene. They swirl around the house, but what catches her gaze isn't those memories…it's the way they start flickering like a channel on TV does before blinking out completely. And so too do her memories and dreams.

One by one, she sees them disappearing before her very eyes. The swirl of dreams and memories around the house ever-shrinking.

"What the hell is happening?" she hears Ash muttering, real fear creeping into his voice.

The answer comes to her like a crashing blow.

Her Heaven is disappearing. Vanishing.

And she can almost feel the angels closing in on her.

She looks down at her wrist, and then grabs at the angel wing charm, trying to unhook it from her bracelet. The bracelet twists in her hand as she looks for a clasp…and finds none. The charm might as well have been welded onto her bracelet.

She even tries taking off the whole bracelet, but the clasp is gone from it, too. It won't even slip over her hand, no matter how hard she pulls and yanks at it.

Ash watches in an almost passive state of shock before commenting, "I don't think that thing is coming off."

Her eyes close in defeat, knowing that Ash is right.

Gently, she pries the door from Ash's shocked grip, pushing it closed with a soft click, and then turns to face him.

"You have to go, Ash," she quietly urges. "I appreciate all you've tried to do for me. And even when you didn't know me…but you have to go. There's nothing more you can do. They'll find me wherever I go. And as you've seen, I don't really have anywhere else to go. You better get out of here before they find you, too."

He scratches his head, his furrowed look saying he doesn't take admitting defeat any better than she normally does. And she's still not willing to…but she's also not dragging someone else down with her.

"Go," she repeats when he hesitates and mutters to himself about what else he could try.

"I could—"

"There's nothing more that can be done for me," she repeats more forcefully. "Go!"

The high-pitched whine of angel voices sound outside and Tabitha knows they're getting closer. She can hear their Enochian, and almost wishes now she knew some of the language itself.

"It won't take them too much longer to find you," Ash whispers regretfully.

"So don't let them find you, too."

He sighs, but does turn back towards the pantry closet door in the kitchen that they'd come in through.

"I'd wish you luck…" he trails off with in an attempt at goodbye.

But they both know it's no use to wish her luck.

"Thanks for trying to help me," she bids him before he waves and disappears through the pantry door.

"Babe, are you ready for work yet?"

She spins around at the familiar voice, starting hopefully towards him before the words register and she stops.

Castiel comes around the corner into the living room, still pulling on a plain, pressed, white dress shirt over his bare shoulders.

When he sees her, he smiles and comes towards where she stands between the living room and the kitchen. The open shirt flutters around him as he stops in front of her and pulls her into a warm, welcoming kiss. It's quick. With the sort of familiarity that comes from greeting someone hello in the morning that way a thousand times. A lifetime.

He pulls back from her, not seeming to notice her almost dazed look.

"Are you gonna finish getting ready for work?" he asks her as he absently fiddles with the buttons at his sleeves, leaving the buttons down the front of his shirt undone, as if knowing that the sight would please her. She glances down to see she'd dressed only in a short t-shirt and black panties.

Pressing another quick kiss to her lips, just a peck, really, he steps away to sit on the overstuffed sofa, pulling on his socks and black dress shoes.

He pauses after they're on, looking up with a smirk before suggesting, "Or maybe we should call in sick today. Let the others play at catchin' the bad guys. We haven't had a day off—let alone a vacation—in forever. Maybe we could take a last minute trip. You name it. Anywhere in the world. We'll go there." That coy grin of his widens as he holds out one hand to her, beckoning her closer.

As if pulled by a string, she glides across the room to him, letting him pull her down to the sofa until she's kneeling on his lap, her knees straddling his slim hips. She lets her hands slid into his shirt, hands resting comfortably under the white cotton as her fingers grip his waist with practiced ease while her forehead falls against his. It's the ease that comes from sitting with him just like this a hundred times.

It's a dream she's savored often, but never allowed herself to dwell on in the harsh light of day.

The dream varies from time to time. Sometimes, Castiel and she are both hunters, working side by side, hunting the things of shadow and shade, but loving each other by the light of day. Other times are like this dream, where they work together for the FBI, hunting and catching bad guys, but living together in the white-picket-dream.

The dreams are always simple. Always happy. And she and Castiel always seem to make it work effortlessly.

"What did you do to me, Cas?" she whispers mournfully to the firm warmth underneath her.

Castiel's hands push lightly on her shoulders, sliding her slightly back as he grins up brightly at her.

"Or maybe we can both call in sick and just laze around in bed." He continues speaking as if the dream is uninterrupted, not addressing her words.

A roaring sound builds around the house, and Tabitha glances out the windows to see the memories and dreams that had been the facets of her Heaven disappearing more rapidly. She knows they're closing in on her. And it's only a matter of time until this part of her Heaven is gone to the ether as well.

Castiel's hands wander down from her shoulders to her sides, teasing with feather strokes against the sides of her breasts as he continues to joke, "Of course, we don't _have_ to be lazy. I mean, if you don't want to. I'm sure we can find more…interesting things to do. Maybe you can wear me out so I really _do_ need to take a sick day tomorrow."

Tabitha sighs even as her hands automatically massage against his sides, but her shoulders slump as she asks, "Why did you give me this charm if it was going to end up doing all this, Cas? _What_ about this is supposed to protect me? It's taken my Heaven from me, Cas. I'm stuck up here now with _nothing_. Not even you. How could you do this to me?"

The dream version of her Castiel smiles brightly in return, his hands sliding to her hips and brushing across her bare thighs as he shifts her in his lap, digging for the cell phone in his dress pants as he tells her, "Perfect, babe. I'll call in and tell them we're both sick. Maybe food poisoning or something like that. They'd believe that, right?"

The roar builds to a fevered pitch as even the house around her now begins ripping to pieces, flying away as if yanked into the vortex of a swirling hurricane.

In hopes of shutting out the sights and sounds of her Heaven being stolen so forcefully from her, Tabitha lets her face fall down into the crook of Castiel's neck as he continues to call them both sick into work. She noses deeper against his skin, inhaling the sweet honey musk of him, trying to commit it to memory before she loses everything. Even this visage of Castiel.

With a catch in her throat, she whispers to him, "How could you do this, Cas? I know I can't have you forever, but I was at least supposed to have this piece of you in Heaven when it was all said and done. Now…I have _nothing_."

Her last word comes out a choked sob as she feels even the honeyed warmth against her nose begin to dissolve beneath her touch.

"You've really gotten yourself into a mess this time, honey."

Tabitha's head snaps up at a voice she'd thought long forgotten, but somehow seems instinctually seared into her memory. A voice she hadn't heard since she was two years old.

"Mom?" she asks in a quavering voice.

Her mother looks exactly like her last memory of her, down to the soft blond curls, and the long white nightgown. Yet, she seems…brighter somehow. Different.

Smiling a wistful smile, her mother gestures around at the all-encompassing vastness of endless white. A blank canvas. Or perhaps, the truth of the mysterious black hole. A landscape so bright and endless that it feels small and crushing even as it spreads on forever in every direction.

"You really gave it all up this time, huh, kiddo?" her mother asks as she looks around them. "And for what?"

Feeling the sting of reproach, Tabitha looks down to nervously fiddle with her accursed charm bracelet. Under her breath, she mutters, "How was I to know this would happen?"

She can feel her mother approach, but doesn't look up as her mother scolds, " _You_ accepted that charm. Freely. It's kind of like signing something without reading the fine print. Just because you don't read it, doesn't stop it from being all-binding."

"I didn't know," she mutters again, voice barely above a whisper. Yet, she does distinctly remember Castiel asking her if she freely and willing accepted his…what had he called it? An amulet…a trinket… And she'd freely and willingly accepted it. She should have realized something was going on from his wording.

Her mother draws her introspection away from herself as she says, "I wouldn't have done this to you, you know. Whether that angel realizes it or not, he's backed you into a corner _I_ never would have. Think what you want of me, but I'm not as ruthless or uncaring as you seem to think. I've just wanted your cooperation…all along."

Tabitha's head snaps up to stare incredulously at the woman who stares at her with crossed arms and a look of "I told you so."

"You're not my mother," Tabitha whispers in understanding.

"Nope," she agrees with a careless shrug.

Narrowing her eyes, Tabitha mirrors her crossed arms to unhappily mutter, "Azrael." Her lip curls a bit as she asks, "You're using my mother as a vessel, aren't you?"

Azrael looks down and almost matronly smoothes the front of her mother's nightgown. Then, she shrugs again before explaining, "You'd gotten yourself into quite the pickle up here, Tabitha. None of my followers had the…juice to yank you out before Zachariah caught up to you again. And I needed to have a vessel to do so. Turns out, getting your mother to say 'yes' to helping her only daughter is _much_ easier than getting you to say 'yes' to helping the _entire world_."

Tabitha lifts her chin aggressively to ask, "So is this your plan now? Use my mother as leverage to make me be your bitch."

Azrael makes an exasperated sound and takes a step away. "Why do you have to continue to see me as the enemy? I'm _trying_ to help you. And the world." She looks over her shoulder to pin Tabitha under a harsh glare. " _I'm_ not the one that caused your Heaven to be obliterated."

Hesitantly, Tabitha asks, "That…that really happened, didn't it? That's not some trick of yours?"

The consoling…and pity-filled look Azrael gives her is answer enough, but the angel still tells her, "Yeah. That really happened. It's…gone. Even beyond my ability to bring it back."

Refusing to let herself fall apart, Tabitha attacks. "Then why didn't you _say_ something? Why didn't any of you damn angels _tell_ me what the hell this charm was gonna do to me? Not Gabriel, not _you_ …not even Cas." The last is muttered in a soft whisper.

"You wouldn't have listened to me," Azrael points out, her kind tone further enflaming Tabitha's anger.

"You knew! You knew I was here. Didn't you?" she threateningly demands. "You probably knew the second my ass got chucked up here. And you just let me get jerked around. Let Zach twist my soul on a spit just to prove some point to me, didn't you?"

Azrael's only response is an imposing, and imperious raise of her eyebrow.

"You bitch!" Tabitha hurls, seeing the truth in her realization. "You keep claiming that you're just trying to help me, and that you'll be my best friend if I just let you in, but you pull shit like this. Let me get jerked around…let my Heaven get _destroyed_ …and then come to me wearing my own mother. If you think there's an _ounce_ of kindness in that…than you're a fool, and an idiot."

A darkness settle over the angel as she leans forward, even the sound of rolling of thunder echoing as Azrael shouts, "I do what I must!" She leans back, gathering herself as she more tepidly continues. "Nothing I tell you seems to ever register with you. You seem only to learn by either banging your head stubbornly against the wall a few hundred times and discovering you're getting nowhere and it hurts, or by learning the utter disaster of your own mistakes. You let _Lucifer_ finish bloody branding you. And _nothing_ I said would have stopped you from taking that charm from Castiel. And for what? You've accepted what withering Grace that angel had left, and in return, you've lost that little slice of Paradise you seem to think is so important for humans to have. You'd have been _lucky_ if your fate had been to get pulled to Hell for letting Lucifer brand you. Demons are still just corrupted humans. They don't have a _fraction_ of the scope that angels do when it comes to pain, wrath, and torment of the soul."

Purposefully, Azrael strides across the white expanse, stopping in front of Tabitha again. "I've tried patience. I've tried explaining things to you. I've tried showing you what the future will hold if you refuse me. _Now_ , you need to see that you have _no other choices left_ ," she growls at Tabitha.

Wildly, she gestures at the nothingness around them. " _This_ would be a blessing to what your future will hold. But that's not going to happen. Living your eternity in this empty landscape will not be your lot in death. You've been signed up for an all-access, backstage pass into the inner-sanctum of Heaven. And _believe_ me, what Zachariah showed you will be a Sunday Bible school compared to what's in store for you after you die next time."

Seeing the hope swirling in her eyes, Azrael cruelly laughs and answers, "Yes. I _will_ resurrect you and return you to your body this time. You need to be in it to say 'yes' to me. Which, as I said, is really your only option now. Say 'yes' to me…and I wipe it _all_ off the map. Hell…Earth…and even Heaven. You won't have to end up with endless torment at the hands of…disgruntled angels. Together, you and I can wipe the _whole_ slate clean. Our Heavenly Father can begin anew."

Crowding closer still, Azrael bitterly warns, "Those are the only choices you've got left now. The next time you die—if Heaven still exists—they'll hide you away so deep in the inner-sanctum, that not even _I_ will be able to find you and extract you."

She stands and straightens, reaching out and touching Tabitha for the first time, almost motherly brushing off the front of Tabitha's leather coat.

Conversationally, she poses, "So, what's it gonna be, Tabitha? Endless torture and torment? Or an end to it all? The sheer bliss…of _nothing_."

Tabitha jerks into a sitting position, her brothers and Castiel falling back from her as she sucks air into her oxygen deprived lungs in greedy gulps.

She knows her brothers are firing questions at her by the way they hold her arms and even pat her back as if to facilitate her sudden breathing. Their words are lost to her ears, drowned out by the echoes of Azrael's offered choices.

"Tabitha! Jesus! Are you all right?" Dean demands of her from one side.

From her other side, Sam tearfully demands, "Holy hell, Tabitha, where were you? We were starting to think you'd really bought the farm that time."

Castiel kneels near her thighs, hands braced on her legs as he stares at her with tears in his eyes.

"How could you?" she rasps, voice thick with emotions too dark, too…deep, for the simplicity of human understanding. Her hand clutches at the lump in her throat, the lingering phantom sensation of her death playing across her skin again as she feels the dried blood caked there. She briefly acknowledges that she and her brothers—still bloody from their own deaths—must look like zombie extras from a B-rated horror movie, but it still seems fitting for the horror that has become the remainder of her life and death.

The boys on either side of her fall silent at the venom of her accusation, trying to puzzle out her question.

Guiltily, Castiel looks down, breaking eye contact with her as he whispers, "I'm sorry."

Shrugging out of her brothers' grips, she yanks her feet underneath her and pops to her feet, towering over the angel as she shouts, "Sorry doesn't _BEGIN_ to cut it, Castiel! It's _GONE_! Just… _gone_. I have nothing left."

Seeming to know exactly what she's talking about, Castiel slowly unfolds from the ground, eyes still fixed on the dirty motel room carpet as he pleadingly tells her, "I'm sorry…that was never my intention."

Sam and Dean stand wearily on either side of their sister, glancing hesitantly back and forth.

Tabitha feels tears build in her eyes again as Azrael's inexorable and pitiless choices echo darkly in her ears. Endless torture in death…or letting the archangel burn down the universe and everything with it.

Those are the only choices she's now left with.

Her eyes fall to her wrist, and she suddenly begins to tug desperately at it, searching in vain for a way to get it off her wrist. Get it off her skin.

"What are you doing? What's going on?" Dean questions, crowding closer at her frantic attempts.

"Get it off. Just get it off me," she pleads in frenzied tones, her vision blurring as she begins yanking at the bracelet, trying to tear the jewelry from her wrist by force.

She feels Dean trap her arm between his elbow and body, holding it still as he searches the bracelet for a release clasp. He's baffled by her nearly crazed behavior, but sees the desperation in the way she yanks so violently at the bracelet that it cuts into the skin, leaving small trickles of blood.

"Sam, help me out," he directs, his voice rising slightly in alarm when he can't find any sort of release catch on the bracelet.

Sam silently twists the bracelet on her arm, sharing a look of growing apprehension with his older brother.

Building nearly to a full-blown panic, Tabitha sobs, "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off me!" While trying to drag her hand back and twisting to reach it and yank once more at the silver charms.

Dean slaps her hands away, shouting at Sam, "Go get the damn bolt cutter out of the trunk."

He struggles to hold his sister still as she fights hysterically against him, her words devolving into disjointed sentences and words he can't follow.

With an annoyed plea, Dean asks the angel, "You wanna help get this thing off her? She's freakin' out here!"

The angel appears frozen in place, unshed tears in his eyes as he stares at the human struggling to contain his younger sister's wild flailing in her rapidly degenerating mental state.

"It cannot be removed," the angel woodenly intones.

Sam returns with the bolt cutter, struggling to place one of the small silver links inside the teeth of the bolt cutter.

"Hold her still," he hisses.

"I'm trying," Dean growls, eyes focused on the link as he watches Sam squeeze the handles together.

When nothing happens, Dean edgily demands, "Dammit, Sammy, put your back into it!"

Voice straining, Sam assures him, "I am! It won't break."

Tabitha suddenly goes limp in Dean's arms. The lack of struggle surprises him so much that she slips from his grip, falling to the ground with a thud.

"Are you all right?" Dean hesitantly questions, crouching in front of his sister, carefully tucking her hair behind her ears so he can see her face.

"'It won't break,'" she repeats, her voice eerily devoid of emotion as she rocks slightly.

Though Dean's still baffled by the whole occurrence, he rushes to assure her, "We'll figure something out, Tabby. We'll get it off. It'll be okay."

She shakes her head, seeming to stare over his shoulder as she replies with no inflection or emotion to her voice, "No. It won't ever come off. Not ever."

Freaked out by her devoid expression, Dean grabs her shoulders, shaking her roughly to get her attention. "Tabitha! Snap out of it! What's going on?"

Sam crouches beside his brother, grabbing her hand and studiously avoiding the one with the bracelet lying across her knee. He squeezes her hand as her face clears some. "Come on, Tab. It's okay. We're here for you. Just tell us what's going on and why you want that thing off so bad," Sam coaxes in a gentle voice.

Tears glisten again in her eyes as she looks back and forth between them, almost as if seeing them for the first time. She knows there's only one way to protect them. Once choice that will protect them. And everyone else.

Even if it damns her.

She doesn't have the energy to move, but she nods, forcing a small smile as she assures them, "It's okay. It'll be okay. It won't ever come off. I promise."

The boys share worried looks at her strange vow.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks timorously.

She looks away from her brothers, centering her glare on Castiel as she glowers up at him. He still remains frozen in the center of the room, staring down at the Winchester siblings.

"Get out."

"Tab, what's going on?" Dean pushes when he hears the venom dripping from her order.

"God has abandoned us," Castiel stiffly explains. His voice lowers as he adds almost to himself, "How do I survive losing _everything_?"

Holding her hand up to shake her bracelet at the angel, she returns, "I knew one day I would end up not having much, but _this_ ensured that _I_ have nothing."

"It was meant to protect—"

"GET OUT!" she shouts over his attempts at an explanation.

Castiel's head drops again, and he disappears without another word.

"What the hell, Tabitha?" Dean demands, shocked by her anger at the angel. The angel still reeling from their news that Joshua's message from God had been that he simply didn't care about the happenings on Earth. "Dude just found out that God don't give a crap about what his teenage mutant ninja angels are up to. Take it easy on him. Why are you yelling at him anyway? What happened to you up there?"

She knows she has to tell them something—they'll be relentless in prodding her otherwise—so she turns to stare at the bracelet on her wrist where it lays once more across her knee, hoping for some kind of inspiration. Jerking a rough nod at it, she says, "Castiel gave me that wing charm. To protect me…I guess." She swallows thickly, trying to come up with something to tell them…other than the horrific truth. Sniffling, she continues, "But it's like a beacon in Heaven. That's why they found me so fast. I can't hide from them up there. And I can't get this thing off. It's stuck good." She can't explain to them that she doesn't have a Heaven anymore and never will again.

"Shit," Dean succinctly replies, rubbing a hand in soothing circles across her back. "But hey, we'll find a way to get it off. I'm sure Cas thought he was doing the right thing if he thought it would protect you somehow. I'm sure there's some way to get it off. There's always a way."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, taking her other hand in his again as he assures her, "There's always a way. And until then…I guess try not to die."

The joke hits her like a punch to the stomach, but she struggles to laugh, even as tears slip over her eyelashes. Squeezing Sam's hand in return, she turns to press her forehead against his shoulder, trying to brightly joke in return, "Yeah. I'd had that on my schedule for this week, but I guess I can put it off a bit."

"It'll be okay, Tabby," Dean assures her, still rubbing her back.

It's an empty promise, she knows, at least for her.

Azrael's offer continues to bounce around her mind.

Endless torture and torment? Or an end to it all? The sheer bliss…of _nothing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Goes into hiding from the rocks being thrown my way*
> 
> Sorry for the angst! But, come on! It's the apocalypse. Angst is a prerequisite. Especially with a Winchester. Three Winchesters is three times the angst! ;)
> 
> Things will continue to be rocky as we near the end of part 2 (the 5th season) so hang in there. But there will be some highs to come as well, so please have faith. I mean, seriously, Castiel did kinda wipe out her Heaven with what he's done. Even if he had the best intentions. Ya know where that road leads. ;) No! She's not going to Hell because of it. I'm just saying the best intentions still screw things up.
> 
> Honestly, I think I'd be a bit pissed and hysterical after finding out my reservation in Heaven had been revoked. Although, I do sort of realize and acknowledge my own evilness and that Heaven may not be the place for me. Hmmm… Guess Crowley better look out! 'Cause if I'm headed down under, I have a few new management ideas I'd like to implement.
> 
> What do you mean I've been banned from Hell?
> 
> Damn, Heaven don't want me and Hell's afraid I'll take over.
> 
> Guess I better stick to writing this story!
> 
> Be sure to leave some review love for my wicked ways!


	14. Chapter 14: This Could Be My Last Hurrah

**Chapter 14: This Could Be My Last Hurrah**

 

"Shit!" Dean curses as he rapidly spins the steering wheel to right the path of the Impala as they race through the night. He glances over his shoulder to gauge the distance of the demons chasing them, sparing a look at his siblings as well. "You guys alright?" he asks them, his voice strained.

Another round of shots ring out uncomfortably close to the Impala.

"Peachy!" Tabitha sarcastically throws back, hurriedly rolling down the window next to her on the driver's side.

Sam holds his bleeding arm, urging his brother, "Drive faster, Dean."

"I can't!" Dean growls in return, glancing again in the rearview mirror before looking to his brother again. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm amazing," Sam answers, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You ever seen that many?" Dean asks, looking over his shoulder once more when he hears the increased rush of wind from behind him.

"What the hell!" Dean exclaims, spotting his sister pushing her upper body through the now open window behind him.

"Jesus Christ!" Sam shouts, flinging his upper body into the backseat to grasp at Tabitha's legs when she leans backwards even further out the window, now sitting on the ledge and firing wildly at the demons chasing them.

Laughing a little manically, Tabitha replies, "Don't think JC's gonna be any help, Sammy!"

In response to Sam's angry mutters, she only leans out further away from the car to get a better aim, relying on her brother alone to keep ahold of her and stop her from falling.

"Hang tight!" she advises her younger brother with a laugh, pumping the sawed-off and taking aim once more at their pursuers.

"In the car!" Dean screams, eyes on the road ahead of them. "Turn! Turn! All passengers must remain INSIDE the car at all times!"

"Dammit, Tabitha!" Sam groans, heaving his weight into jerking her back into the car just as Dean spins the wheel and makes a wild turn along the road. The centrifugal force throws Tabitha back against the passenger side of the car, somehow allowing Sam to right himself in the front seat. But before he can round on his sister for her antics, the car screeches to a halt, all three siblings bracing themselves from being thrown forward as they silently stare ahead at the flaming vehicle barricading the road.

"Awesome," Tabitha groans under her breath, pumping her sawed-off shotgun again.

"Damn it!" Dean exclaims, starting to throw the Impala in reverse, cutting the wheel hard to change directions.

But he barely has the car moving backwards from the fire when the windows shatter as demons reach through to grab the three of them.

As her brothers struggle to shove the demons out of the front of the car, Tabitha slams the butt of her shotgun into the face of the demon grappling for her, and then quickly jumps out of the car after him, firing a round of rock salt into his chest and knocking him to the ground.

Before she can stalk closer, a stream of water sprays over the demon, causing him to scream and writhe on the ground. Stepping back from the water, Tabitha tracks its path back to a strangely converted old fire truck, where several distinctly civilian appearing men gather around it, one running the fire hose from the top. As the demons fight towards the fire truck presumably spraying Holy Water at them, one of the men steps a little apart from the others, raising a bullhorn to his mouth as he begins reciting something. It sounds like Enochian to her, and as she watches, the demons around the car smoke out of the bodies they'd possessed, the now freed bodies falling to the pavement with heavy thuds.

As the boys step out of the Impala behind her, Tabitha hears Dean say, "Well, that's something you don't see every day."

Staring a little enviously at the civilian retrofitted fire truck, Tabitha comments, "No, but I want one."

One of the men with a sawed off shotgun steps forward asking them, "You three all right?"

Answering for all three of them, Dean says a little incredulously, "Peachy."

"Be careful. It's…dangerous around here," the stranger continues to warn them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait, wait," Dean sputters, starting after the man.

"No need to thank us," the stranger returns, misinterpreting Dean's actions and waving them away.

Dean continues trying to get their attention. "No, hold up a sec! Who are you?"

"We're the Sacrament Lutheran Militia."

"The what?" Tabitha asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Looking like he's breaking bad news, the stranger tells them, "I hate to tell you this, but those were demons, and this is the Apocalypse. So…buckle up."

The Winchesters share a startled look before Sam tells the…self-proclaimed militia, "Yeah. We know a little something about the Apocalypse."

Tabitha snorts and steps away from the group, turning most of her attention to her bloody shoulder to examine the wound as she snorts to herself, "Yeah, we're the goddamn harbingers of it."

The men of the militia step closer to the Winchesters, curious by their seemingly shared knowledge of demons.

"Really?" one of them challenges. "You're hip to all this?"

Dean snorts, silently motioning them to step closer to the trunk of the Impala while Tabitha opens the back door, rummaging in her bag for something to clean away the blood from the graze to her shoulder left by a bullet.

As the militia look on in appreciation at the arsenal hidden under the false bottom in the trunk, Sam tells them, "Looks like we're in the same business."

With growing appreciation himself, Dean adds, "Yeah, and among colleagues." He nods to the shotgun still held across the chest of one of the men, commenting, "That's a police-issue shotgun. That truck is, uh…inspired."

"No kidding," Tabitha compliments as she peels off her torn and bloody button-up shirt. "I'm jealous as hell. I totally want one."

Dean gives her a lopsided grin when he sees that her wound is minor, and tells her, "Sure, Tab. I'll add that to your Christmas list this year."

She grins in return, pouring some hydrogen peroxide across the cut flesh. When she looks up, she notices the teenage boy in the group staring at her, eyes transfixed. She rolls her eyes when she sees his gaze locked onto her chest, only covered now by a tight fitting white tank top, the edges of her black lacy bra peeking through. With the peroxide bottle in her hand, she waves it in front of her breasts and then motions up to her eyes. When the bright red face of the boy reaches her face, she gives him a wink, laughing as she turns back to her bag to look for bandages.

Behind the Impala, Dean continues addressing the militia. "Where'd you guys pick up all this crap?"

The darker haired of the two men explains, "You know, you…pick things up along the way."

Apparently deciding to share information with the locals, Dean tells them, "This whole corner of the state is nuts with demon omens. We just want to help. That's all."

Sam throws in, "We're on the same team here. Just talk to us."

The two men and the teenager of the militia share a measured look before the blonde with the shotgun relents. "Follow us," he instructs.

Seeming to be over his bout of nervousness at being caught staring at her assets, the teenager sidles closer to her and cockily tells Tabitha, "You can ride with us, sweetheart."

Laughing at his audacity, Tabitha winks again and saucily tells the teenager, "Sure thing, kid. Why not?"

Dean sputters an objection when she follows him, but Tabitha waves his objection away. "You really think I can't handle myself with glee club there?"

She doesn't wait for his response, instead climbing into the back of the impressively converted fire truck with the grinning teen.

* * *

The teenager—whose name she'd learned was Dylan—is still grinning like he's won the lottery when they arrive in Blue Earth, Minnesota.

Dylan even impressively holds out a hand to Tabitha to help her out of the back of the fire truck when they stop in front of a barricaded church. She sees her brothers park the Impala nearby, but doesn't spare them more than a cursory glance.

Standing on the sidewalk as she takes in the town, Tabitha comments, "I'm not sure whether to be impressed and jealous of the innovation and fortifications of this town, or slightly terrified at the current state of the world."

"It's something else," Dylan replies beside her, but Tabitha can't decide just what his thoughts on the matter are.

Dylan gestures towards the church then where many of the denizens of the town are filing through the small opening between concrete road barriers and razor wire fence.

"Come on in and meet everyone," he eagerly tells her, falling in step beside her.

As they cross through the opening—and over what appears to be an altered Devil's Trap—Tabitha can see a middle-aged redhead waiting, her eyes on Dylan beside her.

When the redhead's gaze runs up and down her appraisingly, Tabitha grimaces while placing the protective look. A suspicious mother.

Looking to Dylan, the woman tells him, "Dylan, it's a church. Headphones off," while gesturing for him to pull the earbuds out. She passes him a loving and indulgent look before turning a harder glare on Tabitha once more.

"This is Tabitha, Mom," the boy introduces, gesturing between the pair of women. "We saved her and her brothers out on the highway into town. They seem to be down with this demon sh—err, stuff."

Tabitha coughs at the boy's near slip in language in front of his mother before she holds a hand out to the woman. "I wouldn't say 'saved,'" she corrects. "We've been neck deep in this…stuff for a long time. We manage just fine on our own." She shakes the woman's hand when she reluctantly offers her own, introducing herself. "Tabitha Winchester. I'd say pleased to meet you, but End Times aren't exactly pleasant."

The woman almost cracks a smile, offering a simple, "Jane," as she pumps her hand once and drops it, herding her son into the church and away from Tabitha.

"Apocalypse or not, I'm pretty sure that's all kinds of illegal," Dean suddenly whispers in her ear.

With a snort, Tabitha retorts, "Hey, he's eighteen. Just this side of legal."

Laughing at his startled expression, Tabitha follows Sam into the heavily fortified and guarded church.

The Winchesters stand briefly in the back of the packed church, none of them exactly listening to whatever sermon is being preached in the front of the church.

Sam looks down the main isle between pews, nodding his head towards several of the men with shotguns sitting at the end of each pew.

Tabitha nods in return, lowering her voice to whisper to her younger brother, "I'll say it again: I'm not sure whether I'm impressed with this town or slightly terrified."

Her brother's dark look tells her exactly what he thinks of the whole matter.

On her other side, Dean gestures to the front of the church with a jerk of his head, lowly asking her, "Is that a mass wedding?"

Disbelieving, Tabitha shakes her head and snorts softly, "'Cause nothing says romance like the end of the world."

The dark haired stranger that they'd run into outside of the town chimes in from the other side of Sam, confirming, "Yeah. We've had eight so far this week."

The Winchesters can only share another look of quiet disbelief, remaining in the back of the church as the wedding comes to a close and the three newlywed couples exit the church amidst cheers and thrown rice.

Again, the three siblings stand a little apart outside the church, watching as the young couples leave.

From behind them, a voice casually says, "So, Rob tells me you three hunt demons."

When they turn to face the voice, they're momentarily startled to see the pastor of the church.

Stuttering a bit, Sam replies, "Uh…yes, sir."

None of the siblings miss the incongruous sight of a pistol strapped to the pastor's thigh as he comments, "You missed a few."

Mirthlessly, Sam laughs and answers, "Yeah, tells us about it." He continues asking, "Any idea why they're here?"

Shaking his head, the pastor answers, "They sure seem to like us though."

After another moment, the pastor looks them over and says, "Follow me, gentleman." With a gracious nod, he tacks on, "And lady of course."

Inside the church again, Dean comments, "So, you're a preacher."

"Not what you expected, huh?" he confirms, leading them down a set of stairs within the church.

"Well, dude, you're packing," Dean agrees.

"Strange times," comes his answer as he leads them down into a busy dayroom in the basement of the church.

"Is that a 12-year-old packing salt rounds?" Dean observes, looking around at all of the activity.

"Everybody pitches in," the preacher confirms.

"So, the whole church?" Sam questions.

But the preacher corrects, "The whole _town_."

"A town of hunters," Tabitha whistles. "I'll keep saying it: This is either the most terrifying thing and we should run for the hills, or this is awesome and we should totally move in."

The preacher stops to turn back to them again, explaining, "Well, the demons were killing us. We had to do something."

"So why not call the National Guard?" Sam questions.

Derisively, Tabitha replies, "Yeah, 'cause that's totally something the Guard prepares and drills for." She taps her hand against her palm as she verbally ticks off a list, "Fires, floods, hurricanes, earthquakes…and oh yeah, demon attacks."

The preacher shakes his head, answering Sam's question. "We were told not to."

"By who?" Sam incredulously asks.

When he looks reluctant to answer, Dean prods, "Come on, Padre. You're as locked and loaded as we've ever seen. And that exorcism was Enochian. Someone's telling you something."

Apologetically, the preacher deflects, "Look, I'm sorry. I can't discuss it."

An teenage girl approaches them, telling the preacher, "Dad, it's okay."

"Leah—" her father starts to warn her.

But she interrupts, confidently telling him, "It's Sam, Dean, and Tabitha Winchester. They're safe. I know all about them."

"You do?" Dean asks in surprise.

"Sure," she answers with a soft smile. "From the angels."

"The angels," Dean repeats. "Awesome."

"Super frickin' fantastic," Tabitha darkly adds. Then abashedly tells the preacher, "Sorry, Padre."

Leah tries to allay their fears. "Don't worry. They can't see you here. The…marks on your ribs, right?" she says, nodding towards them and gesturing to her own ribs.

Tabitha instantly feels a tinge of suspicion at the girl's knowledge, but Sam continues calmly questioning her.

"So, you know all about us because angels told you?"

"Yes. Among other things," she confirms, as if confirming that the sun rises in the east.

"Like the snappy little exorcism spell," Dean guesses.

"And they show me where the demons are gonna be before it happens, how to fight back."

"She's never been wrong," her father chimes in. "Not once. She's very special."

"Dad," Leah self-consciously demurs.

"Sure, something special," Tabitha darkly intones. "But that doesn't sound like any angels we've ever known. And believe it or not, we have met the least douchey of the lot."

Dean nudges her with a reproachful look for her suspicious tone, and then turns back towards father and daughter as he questions, "Let me guess—before you see something, you get a really bad migraine, and you see flashing lights?"

"How'd you know?" Leah quietly wonders.

"'Cause you're not the first prophet we've met. But you _are_ the cutest."

At her father's startled look, Dean quickly adds, "I mean that with total respect, of course."

Under her breath, Tabitha maintains, "Something is funky here. I don't buy what she's selling."

The girl hears her mutters to Sam and Dean, but offers a kind smile as she tells Tabitha, "I understand your reluctance to believe in the angels. You've been deceived more than once. But they're not all trying to lie to you. The angels tell me that they only want to help you and your brothers. They never would have allowed you to fall into your current fate. You just trusted the wrong angel."

Temper flaring at her words, Tabitha leans forward to threaten, "You watch your mouth, little girl. You're talking about matters that are none of your business. And I don't care what you think you are or what you're telling them you are…if you keep running your mouth about things you don't understand…I'll end you."

Shoving off her older brother's reproachful grip, Tabitha pushes away to flee the church.

As she hits the cold air, she growls to herself, "I need a goddamned drink."

* * *

Her brothers find her an hour later in the closest bar. Luckily, neither mentions the incident in the church, instead sitting on either side of her at the bar.

She grins at their arrival, waving down Paul—the dark haired man they'd met outside of town hours earlier—and asking him to set her brothers up with a round of tequila shots.

Dean tosses back his shot, forgoing the salt and lime that his sister favors.

"Tequila, huh?" he quietly questions, not commenting when she waves for the dark haired bartender to pour another for each of them.

"Why not?" she grins, giving Paul a little salute with the shot glass as she compliments, "The End is breathing down our backs and Paul here has some of the best damned tequila this side of the border."

Paul grins and pours himself a shot as well, mirroring her own salute with the shot glass before saying, "How could I not break out my best when such a gorgeous creature graces my bar?"

"Oh, such a flatterer," Tabitha purrs as Paul slams back the shot. Moving quickly, she plucks a lime wedge from the bowl on the bar, wrapping her lips around it as she leans over the wood separating them. With one hand, she grips Paul by the back of the neck, pulling him forward until his lips seal over hers, his tongue sweeping across her lower lip and pulling the lime wedge from between her teeth.

Dean grabs his sister's hips and forcefully yanks her back into her seat before Tabitha is ready, and she falls hard against the stool as she scowls at him. "We were going to share that lime wedge," she huffs in annoyance.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" he demands, pushing away her now empty shot glass and the half-full bottle of tequila. "First, you're reckless as hell going after demons, then you're hitting on a kid not even old enough to shave, and now you're just making out with random dudes in bars? What the hell? You turning into a crazy drunken cougar?"

Tabitha shrugs. "Maybe I am. I never really tried a younger guy before. Being a cougar could be fun. I usually go for the older guys, you know? Maybe younger ones are even better. And I gotta admit, Dylan's one cute guy." She winks at her brother, her smile turning into a full laugh at the look of horror that settles over his face.

Wrapping an arm around her stomach to hold in her laughter, she tells Dean, "Come on. Lighten up. I'm just trying to have a little fun here before I go."

"By getting yourself arrested for hitting on teenage boys."

With another saucy wink, she retorts, "Eighteen. The kid's eighteen, Dean. Perfectly legal."

Shaking her head, she continues, "What's the big deal anyway? So I want to have a little fun before the lights go out. It's probably not going to be that long before they do and you know it, too. And let me tell you, my time down here is the last chance I'm gonna have to have fun. I mean, _real_ fun. I never _really_ had fun, you know? Not like you always did. I was the good little sister. The good middle kid that listened to her older brother and father and looked after her younger brother. I was a little wild in college, but not _too_ wild. I partied a little, but not _too_ much. I tried marijuana, but never anything harder than that. I did some naughty things, but nothing _too_ naughty. I had some fun, but I never _really_ cut loose. And now, my time's running out to _really_ have fun. So I've gotta do it all now. Everything I was too scared…or too good to do before." She turns to give Paul another flirtatious grin as she continues, "And that includes doing shots with lovely bartenders." She sizes him up before asking, "You ever do body shots before?"

Dean shoots a dark look at Paul, almost daring him to speak or step closer to his sister. With forced calm, he commands the bartender, "I think my little sister's had enough. Why don't you go grab her a cup of coffee before something bad happens."

Paul seems to wisely hear the less than veiled threat in those words and nods before going to pour a cup of coffee from a carafe further down the bar.

On the other side of her, Sam suddenly tosses back his own shot of tequila, shaking himself as he mutters, "Wow. I think I'm scarred for life, sis."

With a dark look at the coffee cup suddenly plunked in front of her, Tabitha crosses her arms over her chest and stares defiantly at the cup, an awkward silence filling the air between the siblings as she refuses to touch the steaming mug.

Breaking the weighty air, Sam finally suggests, "So, Tab, I'm thinking that with all the weird stuff going on here, we should probably get another opinion."

When she swivels towards him with a raised eyebrow, he clarifies, "Of the angel variety."

She scoffs and returns her glare to the steaming cup in front of her. "Gee. Which angel do you wanna phone? Michael, Lucifer, Azrael… How 'bout Zachariah?" she waves her hands in the air as she continues, "Or you know, those silent assholes that always follow him around…Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

Impatiently, he tells her, "I was thinking more along the lines of Cas, Tab. You can get ahold of him, right? So maybe you should reach out and fill him in on what's going on here."

"You wanna talk to that ass, then _you_ call him. Last I checked, he still had a cellphone," she snaps.

"Fine," he growls in return, impatiently digging out his cell as he steps away from the noisy bar to make his call.

With a dark chuckle, Tabitha snidely comments to her coffee cup, "Good luck reaching him. I don't think the idiot has really mastered the art of cellular communication yet."

Realizing her older brother's disproving eyes are still focused on her, Tabitha turns to snap, "What?"

"Just how drunk are you?" he demands in his usual older brother judgmental tone.

"Enough," she scowls, not sure what his point is.

He gestures at the coffee cup. "You gonna drink that?"

"Kinda defeats the purpose of trying to get drunk," she growls. Which in truth had been a large feat in and of itself. She's noticed that not only has the stupid angel wing charm on her bracelet increased her hunger—she supposes in order for her body to maintain an angel's Grace—it also seems to have made it a bit more difficult to actually get drunk. Probably part of some kind of increased metabolism.

She'd downed half the bottle of tequila before she started to feel the floating sensation of herself drifting away on her buzz. And she didn't want to undo all her hard work. People would definitely notice if she had to finish the rest of the bottle of tequila to achieve her buzz once more.

"I'll give you a choice," Dean imperiously tells her as he pulls her to her feet, dragging her to an empty table a ways from the bar and plunking her down at it. "Either you start drinking that coffee…or you tell me just what bee crawled up your ass and died."

Arms still folded defiantly across her chest, she glares unflinchingly up at Dean as he stands and glares down at her.

"I'm guessing it has something to do with that charm on your bracelet and why you've been so bitchy whenever Cas even gets mentioned. We all know there's more to that situation than you're letting on. And more to what happened in Heaven. So either you can spill…or you can drink that damn coffee," he threatens. "Seems like an easy choice to me."

Tabitha lowers her arms to her side when she recognizes the dark promise in her brother's unflinching gaze. Past experience tells her that when he throws down an ultimatum like this, that she might as well choose while she's still able to make the more favorable choice. Or her brother will choose the harder one for her.

Still, as she takes the coffee cup, she defensively tells him, "My throat's a little sore anyway and something hot sounds like it would hit the spot right about now."

Dean scoffs, but doesn't challenge her deflection as he sits in the chair across the table from her.

When Sam joins them, Dean asks, "So, did you get ahold of Cas?"

"Yeah, I left him a message," Sam confirms, handing a beer bottle to Dean and keeping one for himself. "I think."

Tabitha looks longingly at the bottles, but when Dean gives her another dark and daring look, she raises her coffee cup and sarcastically hums, "Umm-mmm."

Glancing surreptitiously between them, Sam changes the subject. "So, uh, what's your theory? Why all the demon hits?"

"I don't know," Dean admits, glancing around the bar.

Looking back, he guesses, "Gank the girl prophet, maybe?"

"Have at her," Tabitha grumbles into her coffee, blowing across the cup before taking a sip.

Sam gives both his siblings a strange look.

It prompts Dean to ask simply, "What?"

"Just, these angels are sending these people to do their dirty work."

"Yeah. And?" Dean jadedly responds.

"And they could get ripped to shreds."

"We're all gonna die, Sam," Dean points out. "In like a month—maybe two. I mean it. I mean, this is the end of the world. But these people aren't freaking out. In fact, they're running to the exits in an orderly fashion. I don't know that that's such a bad thing."

"Who says they're all gonna die?" Sam challenges. "Whatever happened to us _saving_ them?" Sam turns to Tabitha beside him, giving her a confused look when she doesn't jump to his side and argue against Dean's glum assessment. "Come on, Tab. You can't tell me that you feel that way, too."

Wrapping both hands around her mug, Tabitha stares down at the dark brown liquid as she tells her younger brother, "Gotta say, Sam, yeah. I can't argue with Dean here. I mean, come on. All we've seen the angels do so far is send others to do their dirty work." She gestures in a circle around the table. "I mean, seriously… Our lives have become doing their dirty work. Or trying to keep from doing more of their dirty work. All we do is gank demons. More than those frickin' angels do. And now we're trying to stop the apocalypse that they had just as big a hand in starting as far as I'm concerned. But us trying to stop it? How well has that been going, Sammy? 'Cause I'd say we're losing on that score. I'm starting to finally see the full scope of power that these angels have, and there ain't much we can do against 'em. We're losing, Sammy. Maybe it's time to accept it and make the best of it. I'm still not saying I buy what this Leah girl is selling, but at least these people get to feel like they're doing something meaningful and useful with whatever time they've got left. 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've lost that illusion that we're actually doing any good out there."

"You don't really believe that. Do you, Tabitha?" Sam asks her, his brow furrowed as he frowns across at her. She knows he's struggling with both her and Dean accepting the path they seem destined for, but she can't seem to bring herself to comfort him at the moment. Not when it's taking her all to keep herself from balling up into the fetal position and crying it out until Judgment Day finally arrives.

Luckily, she's saved from answering his probing look by the tolling of church bells, causing all three siblings to look around in confusion as the bar begins quickly emptying.

"Something I said?" Dean cracks.

"Paul, what's going on?" Sam asks the bartender as the man closes up his bar.

"Leah's had another vision."

"Want to go to church?" Sam asks turning back to his brother and sister.

Dean snarks while finishing his beer. "You know me—downright pious."

Tabitha lets out a disbelieving snort, standing and starting for the bar. "Well, if we're headed to church, I'm definitely gonna need another drink…or twelve."

Dean stands to throw an arm around her shoulders, guiding her away from the bar as he advises, "I'm pretty sure you've had enough there, Tab."

"Ugh," she groans, seeding to fact that Dean won't allow her to do something he's set his mind against. "I'm in no condition to go to church right now."

With a dark chuckle, Dean replies, "Yeah, don't want to blaspheme in a church by showing up drunk."

She returns his dark chuckle as she answers, "Not real worried these days about the fate of my soul." She shudders at the knowledge of just what awaits her now when she dies. Pushing the mental images away, she corrects her brother. "And I meant that I'm too _sober_ to be in a church right now."

* * *

Hours later, the Winchesters approach the farmhouse from Leah's vision along with the other volunteers from the church.

Though her brothers throw a few worried looks her way, Tabitha feels more than sobered by the time they arrive.

Sam has Ruby's knife in hand, and both Dean and Tabitha sport their standard sawed-off shotguns with salt rounds.

As the preacher signals the group to split up to approach the house, the siblings disperse as well, each going with different groups of townspeople.

Tabitha follows the preacher and the redhead, Jane, around behind the house to ensure that no demons escape out the back.

Nodding at the weed sprayer currently holding Holy Water on Jane's back, she whispers in compliment, "I gotta say, the ingenuity of household items for fighting demons in this town is commendable."

Jane smiles grimly. "Necessity is the mother of all invention. Or so they say."

It had seemed deathly quiet while they stalked closer to the house, leaving Tabitha to wonder about the validity of Leah's "visions." But as they approach the back door, they all jump when they hear gunfire ring out from the front of the house. Jane looks worriedly around the way they'd come, and Tabitha knows by the look in her eyes that she's thinking about her son, Dylan.

"Focus," Tabitha advises the woman when she would have gone back the way they'd come, grabbing the worried mother's arm and pushing her towards the back door instead.

Tabitha doesn't bother with the lock-pick set in the pocket of her leather coat, instead, leaning her weight back onto one leg and then kicking the door in.

Pastor Gideon enters first, immediately firing a salt round at a demon rushing down the stair towards them. Jane follows into the house, turning right just inside and spraying Holy Water at anything that moves. Tabitha can hear the pastor speaking in Enochian as she rushes past him, stepping into the kitchen and firing her shotgun at another demon trying to jump Paul from behind. He nods his thanks at her and turns to repeat the same Enochian that the others are using.

Not pausing, Tabitha spins on her heel to step into the living room, seeing her brothers and Dylan fighting several more demons there.

One of the demons rushes her, and she quickly raises her shotgun to fire a salt round into its chest, but it only manages to knock the demon back a few steps. When it rushes her again, she turns her shotgun, swinging the butt of the gun across the demon's face and knocking it to its knees.

"Dean! Tab needs the knife," she hears Sam shout from somewhere behind her, and turns just in time to see her older brother lob the knife at her.

The demon had been rushing her again, but tries valiantly to change his course when he sees the knife tossed to her. With one quick step, Tabitha slams the knife forward into the chest of the demon with one hand on the handle of the knife.

When she yanks the knife back out of the lifeless demon's chest, she realizes there is silence in the house. No shouts. No demons fighting. Just the quiet pants of herself and those she and her brothers had arrived with.

The fight is over, and she is shocked to realize it couldn't have lasted more than a minute. Maybe two.

Her brothers seem just as baffled by the lightning quick fight as she is while they leave the now silent farmhouse.

"I guess that's what it's like, huh?" Sam comments, seeming slightly dazed.

"What?" Dean asks, glancing back at the house, almost still in disbelief.

"Having backup."

They remain in quiet contemplation as they repack their weapons in the trunk of the Impala, but look up when they hear Dylan calling out to the three of them. The boy had been helping the others of the militia repack their converted fire truck, and seem almost ready to head out.

"Hey. So, um, is—is that—is that cool if I get a ride back with you guys?" Dylan eeks out in question to them, darting looks at Tabitha that are by turns shy and daring.

Dean rolls his eyes when he notices the looks the kid gives his sister, but waves the others of the militia away, signaling that they'll get Dylan back to town themselves.

As the old-fashioned fire truck pulls out, he warmly tells the kid, "Hey, you saved my ass twice already. One more time, you can drive."

Laughing, Tabitha tells her brother, "In that case, I should be allowed to drive all the time."

"Shut your cake-hole and get in the back," he ribs her with a good-natured grin. Turning back to Dylan, he says, "You have a beer?"

At Dylan's eager look, he covertly tosses a can across the car, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that no one from the retreating fire truck sees. "You earned it," he assures the kid. Then warns, "Don't tell your mom."

"Oh, believe me—I will _not_ ," Dylan emphatically agrees. He sidles closer to Tabitha again, cockily telling her, "You know, I can think of _lots_ of things I can _not_ tell my mom."

"Oh yeah?" Tabitha purrs, leaning closer. She cups his chin in her hand, fighting a grin at the way his eyes almost glaze over in eager anticipation. Leaning even closer, she whispers, "Faces that still haven't seen a razor are just a _bit_ young for me."

Seeing his disappoint shinning in his eyes, she winks and tells him, "How 'bout you agree not to tell your mom about _this_." As Dylan's eyes widen in shock, she leans closer to brush a soft kiss across his baby soft lips.

When he stands stock still, staring at her in wonder and disbelief, she steps away, laughing to herself and wondering if his awed look means she'd just given him his first kiss. At least, maybe his first kiss outside of clumsy playground fumbling. She laughs outright when she thinks to herself that the kid has a lot of swagger for such a late bloomer.

Tabitha is barely around to the trunk of the Impala, intending on fetching herself a beer when she hears Dylan suddenly screaming. The pain and terror in his cries brings her running back to the side of the car where she'd left him, falling to her knees and tugging him from beneath the car where a demon must have dragged him.

"Dylan?" Dean demands, dropping to his knees beside her as they hear Sam fighting a demon on the other side of the car.

Dean helps her tug Dylan from beneath the car, but they both fall silent when they see the lifeless eyes staring up at them.

Cradling the boy's head in her lap, Tabitha wipes away the ribbons of blood running down his neck from where the demon had torn it open.

"Oh, kid," she chokes out, brushing the hair back from his young face.

All she can think as she stares down at those lifeless eyes is that the world is cruel indeed to take the life from a boy who had only just experienced the wonder of his first real kiss.

* * *

Tabitha and Sam both are fighting laughter as they come through the doorway of the motel room, both trying to prop the other up as they fight their mirth.

"Where have you two been?" Dean wearily asks from where he sits on one of the beds.

Sam and Tabitha glance at each other, both bursting out in laughter again before Sam answers simply, "Drinkin'."

Tabitha pats Sam's back with the hand she'd had wrapped around his waist to support herself. "Sammy here doesn't have any objections to drinkin' and cuttin' loose now and then. Or…you know…when the Apocalypse is near."

Dean shakes his head before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headboard again. "What a couple of rebels," he sighs, referring to the latest rules laid down by the angels as relayed by Leah during Dylan's funeral earlier that day. She sours a little at the reminder of what she'd been drinking to forget in the first place. The reminder that she held a major share in the blame for that boy's death. She hadn't even been able to argue with his mother when Jane had shouted her angry accusations at her. Even without the accusations, Tabitha felt the burden of her guilt for the boy's death.

Unaware of the sour turn her mood had taken, Sam continues speaking to their brother. "We'd have had more, um…" Sam starts to explain, half setting, half dumping his sister on the other bed next to the one Dean's on.

"…But we got kicked out due to curfew," Tabitha finishes, struggling to pull her arm out of her unzipped leather jacket, determined to push the lingering guilt away and wallow in the bliss of drunkenness. Rolling back and forth on the bed, she manages to slide one arm out of its sleeve. As she struggles with the other arm, she sourly explains to Dean, "Wasn't near as much fun as drinkin' there the other night when the place was hoppin'. With the new rules according to Leah, the place was empty. Paul wasn't even as much fun tonight. Bunch of dour sour pusses."

"Right," Dean answers noncommittally.

Finally, Tabitha rolls on top of the bed enough and manages to slip her arm out of the jacket. Before she can gloat in satisfaction at the seemingly huge achievement, something slams into her back and the back of her head.

Sam appears then in her line of vision, and she suddenly realizes that she can see the ceiling behind him. And that somehow the bed is now beside her. Instead of under her.

"What?" she wonders with a frown, allowing Sam to pull her up from the floor with unsteady hands and push her back onto the bed.

"How'd that happen?" she wonders to herself.

"I don't know," Sam chuckles as he steps away again. "Probably has something to do with that second bottle of tequila you started on," he points out, struggling to contain his mirth.

"Could be," she admits, rubbing the back of her head and wondering if she's already feeling a lump forming. "But I was just helping Paul clear out his stock. Now that all the fun stuff is outlawed in this town." She shakes her head. "I've finally decided. I totally don't like this town. We should leave. Maybe after I finish off Paul's supply of that gold label tequila."

The boys ignore her rambling, and Sam turns back to Dean to question him, "You hear they shut down the cell towers?"

"No. That's, uh, news to me." Tabitha can hear her older brother answer in the same weary tones from before. But the noise of her brothers is already starting to give her a headache so she flops onto the bed, covering her head with one of the pillows.

She vaguely realizes that she can hear her brothers arguing with each other and tries to ignore it in favor of pressing the pillow tighter over her head to drown them out. She knows that Sam is concerned about the changes suddenly happening in this town and from what she catches of Dean's muffled responses, that her older brother doesn't seem to muster up much concern for the changes though he's noticed them as well.

When she hears Sam's confession that he's white-knuckling his way through everything that's happening and that he needs the two of them to keep him steady, she hears Dean unsympathetically reply that he just doesn't care anymore and that they can't stop what's coming.

"No!" Sam suddenly shouts, and she feels a hand shove at her hip, rolling her over onto her back.

Blearily, she looks up at her brothers facing off with each other as Sam continues, "You can't do this to me. To _us_!" he shouts, jabbing a finger at himself and Tabitha.

He sighs as he looks back and forth between his siblings, frowning at them both. "I got _one_ thing—one thing keeping me going. You think you're the only one white-knuckling it here, Dean? I can't count on anyone else. And I can't do this alone. I need this family."

Fighting back tears, Sam looks to his sister for support. "Come on, Tab. We're all hanging on by a thread here. You, too. We have to stick together. We can do this if we stick together, guys."

Tabitha lays one hand over her forehead as she stares at the ceiling, unwilling to stare into her younger brother's pleading eyes any longer when she can't give him what he's looking for. "Sam…" she sighs, searching for the right words. "You don't want to hear it, but maybe Dean's right. What hope do we have? We haven't accomplished a damn thing yet. Apocalypse is still knocking on the door…and no matter how you look at it…the three of us are screwed ten ways from Sunday."

"You can't just give up, too, Tab. We can do this. We'll figure it out. Everything will be alright," Sam insists.

"Sam, Lucifer and Michael wanna wear the two of you to the prom. And not only have I got Azrael breathing down my neck for a piece of my ass…now I've got Lucifer staking a claim on me to get at _her_ …and who knows what Castiel is doing. I haven't got enough room on my shoulders anymore for all the angels angling for a piece of me. So excuse me if I've accepted that things are gonna happen the way the angels want them to. Might as well sit back and enjoy what little time we've got left. Make sure we go out with a bang," she advises with the aplomb only drunkenness can achieve.

She can hear Sam stalk closer to her.

"You can't be serious," he rails in disbelief. "You can't be saying that you're just giving up, too. I need you. I need _both_ of you. I need this family."

Tabitha sighs and rolls over on the bed, pulling the pillow up by her head again, ignoring her brother's words as she tries to push away her building headache. The feeling of her drunkenness slipping away annoys her. She already misses her high from the bar and certainly doesn't want to deal with any of these arguments after a night of drinking away her guilt.

Dimly, she hears Dean leaving their motel room.

"Dean," Sam calls after him.

"I got to clear my head," Dean replies shortly.

"It's past curfew," Sam calls. The door slams and Sam more quietly repeats, "It's past curfew."

* * *

Despite the silence between Sam and Tabitha, she can't quite lull herself into sleeping or passing out for the sounds of her younger brother shuffling around the room. She knows he wants to talk about what had happened earlier, but she can't bring herself to take back what she said. She's seen firsthand the futileness in hoping for any different outcome when trying to go against the angels. And she's still just drunk enough to not care about anything at the moment.

A sudden familiar sensation crawls along her spine, forcing her to bolt upright with a startled gasp of air at the familiar sensation.

Sam twirls to stare at her, and then spins back again at the voice slurring from across the room behind him.

"I got your message."

Castiel stands propping himself against the half-wall near the door to their room, staring down at the floor and pointedly avoiding looking towards Tabitha.

In a graveled voice, Castiel continues slurring, "It was long, your message. And I find the sound of your voice grating."

"What's wrong with you?" Sam asks, staring in bewilderment at the swaying angel.

"Are you…drunk?" he continues asking seeming unable to reconcile the notion with the angel in front of him. Truthfully, though it's quite apparent to Tabitha that the angel is even drunker than she is, she's also having trouble reconciling the notion of her straight-laced angel actually getting hammered. She scowls as she reminds herself that he's not _her_ angel.

Castiel finally turns to fully face Sam, answering indignantly, "No!" He sways further and braces himself to keep from falling. More quietly, he amends with simple acceptance, "Yes."

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam questions, looking unsure if he should move closer to help the angel or not.

"I found a liquor store," Castiel replies as if it's completely obvious.

"And?"

"And I drank it," the angel snaps. "Why'd you call me?"

The angel finally darts a fleeting look at Tabitha, and when she realizes she'd been holding her breath and waiting for just that moment, she sighs in frustration and flops angrily back onto the bed, annoyed with herself for still waiting with baited breath for any scrape from the angel. Even after everything he's done to her and his lies.

Castiel staggers towards Sam, who's forced to jump forward to steady the angel when he almost falls.

"Whoa. There you go. Easy," he says as he steadies Castiel. "Are you okay?"

From her place on the bed, Tabitha can still see the angel lean closer to her younger brother, gesturing him closer still before growling in his ear, "Don't ask stupid questions."

Sam leans back with an annoyed expression, throwing her a pleading look. She shrugs as best she can from her reclined position. She's not about to offer her brother any help. Not half hung-over.

"Tell me what you need," Castiel commands, leaning sloppily back against the table to support himself.

Sam fidgets as he explains, "T-there have been these—these demon attacks. Massive, right on the edge of town, and we can't figure out why they're—"

"Any sign of angels?" Castiel interrupts.

"Not until now," Tabitha mutters, rising from the bed and taking the long circuit around the room to avoid said angel as she moves to fix herself a cup of coffee. Strong, crappy, motel coffee sounds just like what she needs to deal with the turn her night has taken. She either needs to be more sober or more drunk. And the liquor supply in their room is gone.

"Sort of," Sam answers a little haltingly. "They've been speaking to this prophet. This girl, Leah Gideon."

"She's not a prophet," Castiel immediately tells him.

"I'm pretty sure she _is_ ," Sam argues, seeming annoyed with the drunken angel.

"Or she's not," Tabitha interrupts, hardly believing that she's actually siding with the angel. She pops a mug of water into the microwave as she continues, "I told you that girl was fishy."

"But she has visions, headaches—" Sam keeps arguing. "—the whole package."

Wearily, Castiel explains, "The names of _all_ the prophets—they're seared into my brain." With a droll look at Sam, he continues, "Leah Gideon is not one of them."

Pulling out her hot water and mixing her crappy instant coffee, Tabitha sarcastically intones, "Yay me. The sister's right again. But do they listen to me? _Nooo_. Drunk or not, this chick knows what she's talkin' about."

Glancing back and forth across the room at the angel and his sister, Sam asks, "Then what is she?"

* * *

"We went out looking for you," Sam accuses the moment Dean steps back into their motel room the next morning.

Sam pauses in his accusations when he sees the stark look on their brother's face and the blood on his hands, inquiring with more concern, "You all right?"

Dean seems almost dazed as he glances down at the blood drying on his hands. "Yeah. It's—it's not my blood." He pauses before stepping further into the room. "Paul's dead."

Tabitha had been hunched over another cup of disgusting tasting instant coffee at the small dinette table, but bolts upright at his words. "What?!" she demands thinking it couldn't have been that many hours ago that she and Sam had still been drinking with the man in his bar. "What happened to him?"

Somehow, her guilt just compounds from the already high levels that had driven her to getting drunk the night before. Why does it seem like every man she looks at twice either ends up dead…or somehow being the worst mistake of her life?

She frowns and darts a look at Castiel in the corner of the room before focusing again on Dean.

"Jane shot him," Dean explains simply, still seeming dazed.

"Why the hell would she do that?" she demands, dumbfounded by his answer.

Over her words, Castiel tells Sam, "It's starting."

" _What's_ starting?" Dean asks the room, and then does a double take at the angel sprawled on top of the tacky red pleather couch. "Where the hell have you been?"

"On a bender," Castiel snaps, surprising them all that he even knows what the word means.

Dean looks to Sam to softly confirm, "Did he—" then thinks better of it and turns back to the angel to more directly ask him, "—did you say 'on a bender'?"

"Yeah," Sam confirms for the angel. "He's still pretty smashed."

The angel of topic waves the discussion away, insisting, "It is not of import."

Tabitha had avoided the company of the angel for most of the night, spending it instead searching for her older brother. But now cooped up in the same room with him again—and still nursing a massive hangover—she snaps at him, "You know what, Cas? You don't get to decide what things are of ' _import—_ '" She sarcastically repeats his wording, using air quotes as she rises from her chair to stalk closer. "—to impart to us, you son of a bitch. I'd say your decision making skills in that arena are kinda horse-shit, Cas."

Castiel looks up to stare across the expanse of cheap motel carpet, holding her infuriated gaze. It's the first time either of them has held each other's gaze for more than a split second. She can see a multitude of swirling emotion in his eyes, and she makes sure that her own gaze mirrors her equally tumultuous emotions.

"I was trying to protect you," Castiel insists, just as he had when she'd first been returned from Heaven.

"If your idea of protecting me is obliterating my Heaven and ensuring that I'm screwed royally for the rest of eternity…then you've got a fucked up idea of protection, Cas. And I'm not sure who the bigger moron here is. You for offering this stupid charm to me—" she lowly threatens, shaking her wrist with the charm bracelet at him, "—or _me_ for being so damn naïve as to accept the damn thing."

A few tense moments pass where the boys glance back and forth between their sister and the angel. Neither of them spills any actual details like both Sam and Dean have been hoping and waiting for, leaving the brothers still somewhat at a loss for why exactly Tabitha is taking Castiel's actions so hard. All she's divulged to them is that the charm is like a homing beacon in Heaven. She's managed to keep them as much in the dark about what really happened in Heaven as she can. As well as keeping from them that her Heaven has been permanently obliterated. Or that Castiel had used the charm to siphon a part of his Grace off into her.

Not to mention keeping the fact from them about why exactly she feels so betrayed by his failure to tell her everything she was accepting and the ramifications of her choice.

After holding her gaze for a few moments, Castiel begins speaking to her a little angrily, waving his hands around as he does. "We _need_ to talk about what's happening here."

"Well, I'm all ears," Dean sighs, moving to finally wash away the blood from his hands in the kitchen sink.

Sam starts with the explanations, still casting lingering and curious looks between his sister and the angel. "Well, for starters…Leah is not a real prophet."

Picking up her bitter coffee again, Tabitha raises her free hand and reminds them, "And who said that girl was full of shit? That's right, me."

Turning from the sink, Dean asks them, "Well, since you're always right, what is she, exactly?"

Tabitha shrugs and tosses out, "Dunno. A bitch."

"The whore," Castiel matter-of-factly supplies.

"Sure, that, too," Tabitha agrees, absently thinking that drinking has certainly loosened up the angel's vocabulary. Few more weeks of drinking and he might actually be able to speak like an actual human.

"Wow. Cas, tell us what you _really_ think," Dean says, shaking his head.

Impatiently, Castiel explains to them, "She rises when Lucifer walks the Earth." He points down at an old bible he'd been leafing through, reciting, "'And she shall come, bearing false prophecy.'" He taps the worn parchment pages of the bible and the section he'd been looking at. "This creature has the power to take a human's form, read minds. Book of Revelations calls her 'The Whore of Babylon.'"

"Well, that's catchy," Dean jokes, stepping closer to look at the bible on the coffee table.

"The _real_ Leah was probably killed months ago," Sam guesses.

"What about the demons attacking the town?" Dean wonders.

"They're under her control," comes the angel's answer.

"And the Enochian exorcism?"

"Fake," Castiel tells Dean. "It actually means, 'You, um, breed with the mouth of a goat.'"

When none of them seems to find the humor that the angel does, he hastens to explain, "It's funnier in Enochian."

Moving on from the angel's skewed humor, Dean presses, "So the demons smoking out—that's just a con? Why? What's the endgame?"

"What you just saw—innocent blood spilled in God's name," Castiel explains, referring to Paul's death.

"You heard all that Heaven talk the girl was spouting," Tabitha adds from her place at the small table near the kitchen. "She's just manipulating people. Using their fear of what's coming—"

Dean cuts her off as he understands. "—To slaughter and kill and sing peppy little hymns." He stands and moves across the room again, muttering, "Awesome."

Castiel picks up the explanation. "Her goal is to condemn as many souls to Hell as possible. And it's…just beginning. She's well on her way to dragging this whole town into the pit."

"All right. So, then, how do we go Pimp of Babylon all over this bitch?" Dean questions, jumping to action as he always does.

After a second, Castiel disappears, leaving the Winchesters alone to study the bible passage Castiel had been reading from. Less than a minute passes before Castiel reappears and plunks a gnarled looking stick on top of the bible in front of the boys, telling them, "The Whore can be killed with that." He turns to walk across into the kitchen, continuing his explanation. "It's a stake made from a Cypress tree in Babylon."

"Great. Let's ventilate her," Dean agrees. Talking things to death has never been his forte. If the Whore needs killing, he'd just as soon get to ganking the bitch.

After filling a glass of water, the angel tiredly replies, "It's not that easy."

"When is it ever?" Tabitha asks in frustration, leaning her chair back so it balances on its two back legs, crossing her arms behind her head and watching the angel as well as her two brothers who pass the stake back and forth between them.

"The Whore can only be killed by a true servant of Heaven."

"Servant, like…" Dean trails off.

"Not you," the angel immediately replies, his eyes downcast as he frowns. "Or me." His eyes cut across the room to Tabitha as he adds almost apologetically, "Tabitha is barely human now."

Her chair drops forward with a loud thud as she braces her hands on the wooden table in front of her, glaring at the angel until his eyes drop guiltily away. Seeing his gaze move from her, she lowly demands, "And whose fault is that?"

His eyes snap back to hers, gaze dropping meaningfully to the spot on her chest that was branded what almost seems like a lifetime ago. When his eyes trail back to meet hers, he maintains, "As much my brother's fault as mine. And that charm is likely what helped you to overcome his brand for so long."

Stiffly, she demands, "And did you give me this stupid charm with the knowledge that I was going to end up branded?!"

Voice dropping more, Castiel stiffly admits, "I gave you that charm in the hopes that it would strengthen you enough to withstand _whatever_ was coming. Whether it was Lucifer or Azrael."

Fighting the tears and hurt she feels at his manipulations and lies, Tabitha looks away, refusing to let the gathering tears fall and profess her weakness.

She can hear Castiel turn back to her brothers as he flatly continues. "Sam, of course, is an abomination." He pauses before glumly finishing with, "We'll have to find someone else."

* * *

The Winchesters look almost as startled as Pastor Gideon does when Castiel reappears in their room with the man in tow. Much to Dean's chagrin, they'd spent the day making preparations instead of acting, but the sight of the angel and the preacher gives him hope that their idleness will soon be over.

"What the hell was that?" the pastor whispers incredulously to himself.

"Yeah, he wasn't lying about the angel thing," Dean explains, guessing part of the reason for the disbelief on the preacher's face.

Arms folded over her chest, Tabitha frowns as she reproaches, "You might wanna give people a bit of a heads up next time, Cas. Gettin' jerked around by angels the way you like to do kinda gets old fast."

He scowls at her words, not seeming to understand them, but very clearly catching the anger and malice still laced within them.

Dean walks up to the baffled man, telling him, "Have a seat, Padre. We got to have a chat."

The man still looks startled and confused, but obediently sits and listens as the four of them fill him in on the details.

Several minutes and an outlined plan later, he vehemently shakes his head. "No. She's my daughter."

Trying to be sympathetic, Dean tells him, "I'm sorry, but she's not. She's the thing that _killed_ your daughter."

"That's impossible."

"But it's true," Sam interjects. "And deep down, you know it." Looking for a way to make the pious and devote man understand, Sam continues, "Look, we get it—it's too much. But if you don't do this, she's going to kill a lot of people and damn the rest to Hell."

"Sam's right," Tabitha agrees. She can see the lingering doubt and questions in his eyes. But she also sees the devotion of a father shining there. She tries to appeal to his lingering doubt. "This thing may look like your daughter, but you know it isn't. You know and you've questioned it for some time, haven't you? You know she isn't saying and doing the things your Leah would do. Because that's _not_ your Leah."

"It's just…"

Pastor Gideon seems to finally relent somewhat, seeming to agree that _something_ isn't right with his daughter. He stares at the stake Dean holds out towards him before continuing in a desperate whisper. "Why does it have to be _me_?"

It's the angel that offers the soft and apologetic explanation. "You're a servant of Heaven."

"And you're an angel," the pastor snaps, turning in his chair to face him.

"Poor example of one," Castiel apologizes, eyes looking sorrowfully at Tabitha for a brief moment.

As the pastor turns back to stare at the outstretched stake, Tabitha stands to silently slip out of the motel room. The angel's words affect her more than she cares to consider. The thought that she might be even partially responsible for Castiel's downfall is almost more than she can bear. Or even wrap her head around.

She leans against the trunk of the Impala, wrapping her arms around her midsection in an effort to fend off the sudden chill she feels enveloping her in an embrace.

Though it's silent, she can still feel the approach of the angel behind her.

"I was losing my Grace," she hears him softly tell her.

Sniffing a little, she turns to face him, flatly asking, "What?"

He steps around the car, moving a little closer and reaching out to touch her arm, but stopping when he sees the slightest flinch at his action. His arms flop stiffly back to his sides.

In a soft whisper, he continues to expound, regardless of her drawing minutely away from him. "Cut off from Heaven as I have been…I am losing my Grace. It is…dissipating. Before I asked you to accept the charm, I was intending to confront Raphael with your brother." He sighs as his gaze drops to the pavement at his feet. Hurt laces his tone as he admits, "I didn't expect to survive the encounter with my brother."

He shuffles his feet for a minute before he inhales a steadying breath to continue. "All I could think was that I would die and you would be left alone and vulnerable. To both Lucifer and Azrael. So I poured a part of my Grace—Grace I am losing every day regardless—into that charm. And asked you to wear it in the hopes that it would make you strong enough to withstand them after Raphael killed me. Strong enough to keep you alive and whole."

Castiel moves a bit closer again, and this time, when he slowly and painstakingly raises his hand and reaches up towards her face, Tabitha remains still, her eyes slipping closed as his fingertips gently brush across her cheek. The tentative touch recalls to her mind the days before they became lovers. When he would touch her cheek in the same hesitant and gentle way. As if afraid to actually reach out and touch her, but craving just the smallest contact all the same.

Voice dropping until she can barely hear it, he continues to whisper, "I just wanted you to be strong enough to withstand what I knew was coming."

For a moment, Tabitha indulges in leaning into his touch, turning her head until his whole hand is pressed flush against her face, slightly caressing her skin.

Forcing her eyes open, she whispers, "Did you know that me accepting a part of your Grace like that would mean that I was relinquishing my personal Heaven?"

His eyes drop away from hers, giving her all the answer she needs.

Twisting away from him, she angrily demands, "How could you, Cas? You knew. You _knew_ I was losing my Heaven. And you let me accept it anyway. How could you ask me to take that charm when you knew you were damning me to the torment of your asshole brothers up there for eternity?"

The cold air licks across her cheek where his hand had been as if a cruel reminder of the warmth that had been there, and before she realizes it, she reaches up to cover the spot with her own hand, stroking the skin as if the cold has burned her.

Still looking guiltily at the pavement, Castiel admits, "My only thought was to ensure that you would be strong enough to withstand Azrael and Lucifer. I knew even with my added Grace…that the chances were still likely to be impossible. Their threat was more pressing than what might happen to you later. I just wanted you to live."

"So you didn't think that far ahead," she surmises, swiping at the tears that escape past her lashes. "And I end up paying the price. 'Cause I'm human, Cas. And I _will_ die someday. And we both know what I have to look forward to now." Sniffing, she whispers, "You _lied_ to me, Cas."

His head jerks up as he insists, "I never lied to you about the charm."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she corrects him. "You knew what would happen. You knew so much more than you told me. And still you asked me to accept this damn charm without giving me all the information I needed. Withholding that kind of information is tantamount to lying, Cas."

The angel reaches out one last time to grab her arm, but she twists away, dancing out of his grip.

"I've lost all hope in my Father," he confides brokenly as she starts to walk away from him. "I have been broken at the thought of losing you as well, Tabitha."

Facing away from him, she whispers, "You never had me if you thought you could lie to me that way, Cas. About something that big."

* * *

Despite her anger at Castiel earlier in the evening, Tabitha can't force herself to remain so cold to the pained angel as she helps lower him onto one of their beds. She feels his clammy forehead with the back of her hand.

"She really did a number on you with whatever she said, or whatever that spell was she threw at you," she whispers to the angel, remembering the way he'd dropped and writhed in pain in response to whatever the Whore of Babylon had recited at him.

"I'm fine," he groans, attempting to hide his pain even as he curls onto his side, nearly into the fetal position.

She manages a half smile at his stoic attempt, telling him, "At least Dean managed to kill her. I'm glad for Pastor Gideon that he didn't have to. No father should have to do that, regardless of what she _really_ was. And even if it's completely baffling that Dean's _somehow_ a servant of Heaven. Who woulda figured that?"

Dean snorts behind her when he overhears her joking slight, half-heartedly joking in return, "Yeah, guess it's just my long run of good luck."

Tabitha starts to move away from the angel, but stops when his hand darts out to grab her wrist, halting her retreat.

When she glances back down, he whispers in a desperate plea, "How do I stop the pain?"

Unable to hold herself back, she brushes some of his hair from his forehead as she assures him, "Don't worry. I'll get you some aspirin. Or maybe I can find something stronger."

"No," he groans when she starts to turn away again, his grip tightening on her wrist as a look of fear glints in his gaze. "Not that pain." He taps his chest with his other hand. "The pain here. The ache. I tried to drown it with liquor as I've seen other humans do…as I've heard you speak of doing. But it didn't help. How do I stop this unrelenting ache in my chest?"

With her other hand, Tabitha gently pries Castiel's hand from her wrist. "Believe me, Cas, I really wish with all my heart that I knew how to stop the pain of heartache. I really do. More than you know. Drinking is only good for dulling it periodically. I should know, I've tried that, too."

Quickly, she moves away from the prone angel, glancing at her brothers as they help patch up the pastor. She sees the faraway look in Dean's eyes as he watches Sam wrapping gauze around Pastor Gideon's arm.

It's brief, but she has a sudden flash of understanding for that faraway look in his eyes, and so she slips out of the motel before either of her brothers notice.

She's waiting in the passenger seat of the Impala when Dean slips into the driver's seat.

He jumps at the unexpected sight of her in the car, and then narrows his eyes as he orders, "Get out and get back into that motel, Tab."

"No," she answers simply, looking at him with one eyebrow raised in challenge. "And unless you wanna sit around here and give Sammy more time to figure out what you're actually doing, I suggest you stop arguing with me and we get going."

"Just where do you think _we're_ going?" he demands suspiciously, his hand fingering the keys as he holds them halfway to the ignition.

"To say goodbye to Lisa," she whispers matter-of-factly.

When he stares at her in shock, she gives a watery smile as she explains, "It's what I would do if I were you. Take the time to say last goodbyes to people I love. Before it's too late."

"You're not talking me out of doing what I have to do," he promises in a low and deadly serious voice.

"I know," she whispers a bit sadly. "I've never wanted to stop you from doing what you thought you had to do, Dean," she assures him. Rubbing lightly at the spot where the brand lies on her chest, she promises, "But I'll always do whatever I have to do to ensure that you _can_ do what you feel you need and must do, Dean. And I'll be with you for as long as I can. So you're not alone in this."

Dean glances back at the motel one last time before starting the Impala with a look of determined decision. As the engine roars to life, Dean throws it in gear and peels out of the parking lot.

* * *

Tabitha waits in the car when Dean approaches Lisa's house. She can see the look of confusion and surprise on the dark-haired woman's face, but looks away, not wanting to intrude on the private moment between the two. She'd told Dean that she would support his decisions, and that's all she intends to do. Whatever it may be. But she couldn't bring herself to let him make this goodbye trip alone.

When Dean climbs back into the Impala, they both ignore the tears in his eyes as Dean sits unmoving, hands braced on the wheel.

Suddenly, he tells her in a choked voice, "I'm gonna make sure that she's okay. Her and Ben. I'll make sure they take care of her." His voice lowers as he adds, "I'm gonna ask them to take care of you, too, Tab."

Tabitha lets her head fall back against the seat behind her, blinking furiously at the gathering tears.

She wants to tell him that it's futile to ask anything for her. Between being Azrael's vessel, being marked by Lucifer, and then the rest of the angel factions just wanting her dead…there's no hope for her protection. And that was before she realized the lasting consequences of Castiel's charm.

Dean breaks the heavy silence by telling her, "I'm going to say 'yes' to Michael. I have to. I have to end this now. You know Sam will say 'yes' to Lucifer eventually. I _have_ to do this. Maybe…maybe if I do, that bitch will leave you alone, too."

Tabitha reaches across the car to squeeze her brother's hand, and not addressing the last part, she tremulously tells him, "Whatever decision we make together, Dean, I'll back your play. I'll have your back no matter what it takes."

"I love you, Tabby," he assures her, squeezing her hand in return. Holding it like it's his last lifeline.

"I know," she brokenly whispers. "I know, Dean. I love you, too."

"I'm just so tired. It has to end." He sighs and roughly jerks the gearshift into drive, pulling away from Lisa's house.

As they speed away, Tabitha looks out the passenger window, her mind drifting to her dark impending future when she dies. She can't lie to herself and say that she isn't terrified of it. Because she's beyond petrified of it. But drinking and trying to convince herself that she's having one last hurrah before she dies has done nothing to lessen her fear of her impending doom. Yet, at the same time, a strange sort of peace comes with accepting its inevitability. She can't stop it, and she does fear it, but she can make damn sure that she gives her brothers whatever help they need before she goes.

Whispering lowly to herself, she promises, "I know. I'm tired, too. But I'll do whatever I have to to back your play. No matter what it takes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a bit shorter chapter, but at least I finally got it done.
> 
> Sorry that took a while, and thanks so much to everyone for your patience and for your kind reviews letting me know every day that you guys were still reading and still waiting for a new chapter. Time just seemed to keep getting away from me the past month or so, and I'll admit to having some personal issues lately that simply made writing a very difficult task when my mind wasn't in the right frame of mind. I won't bore with details, but I'm trying to work through my shit and get things in my life back on track. Some days are better than others.
> 
> But I managed to pull together a few good days as well as some free time and get this chapter shot out. Hopefully the next chapter will be up with far less delay, and I'm already getting started on it.
> 
> Thanks again to all my lovely readers! All admit that on some bad days, your reviews were the only bright spot that made me smile. So thank you all a million!


	15. Past the Point of No Return

**Chapter 15: Past the Point of No Return**

 

"Can you make sure the stuff in this box gets where it belongs?" Dean asks, trying to sound stoic.

Tabitha pointedly ignores the envelopes on top bearing her name and Bobby's. As well as the memory of watching him place his leather coat, car keys, and favorite pearlized handled Colt 1911 in the cardboard box as well.

For a moment, she almost thinks to tell him that she's a poor choice for keeper of his belongings since no matter what Dean is planning on doing; she highly doubts she'll be around after what he thinks he plans on doing. Not long enough to see that his box of most prized possessions are properly distributed anyway.

But thinking better of telling him the harsh truth, she settles for the kinder lie, assuring him, "Of course, Dean. I'll take care of it." And she knows that somehow she will. Even if it requires coordinating the distribution of the contents by Cort. Or maybe even Shawn. She knows that she owes them both a call and explanation of some sort in the coming days as well. But no matter what's happened between her and the two very different men from her complicated past, she knows that if she asks one of them to take charge of the box, they'll see to it that it reaches Sam or Bobby. She just hopes Shawn's had enough time to get over his harsh introduction to the truth of the things that creep and crawl in the night.

Leaning back against the stiff headboard of the lumpy motel bed, she reminds herself not to look on the dark side of things just yet. After all, just as Dean thinks he's been making plans, so has she, so there's no reason to believe that box of belongings needs worrying about just yet. And not at all if she has any say in the matter.

Dean pours another glass of whiskey from his bottle, holding it out towards her as he asks, "Want some?"

She waves it off, folding her hands behind her head as she watches her older brother. Not that another drink isn't more than tempting, but it doesn't seem like that long ago that she just got over her last massive hangover. And she knows that someone should remain sober.

He snorts in amusement at her refusal, turning to look down at his glass as he moves to stand in front of the large mirror across the room from her. Standing where he is, she can see his back turned towards her, and his front through the reflection in the mirror, so she sees the hopeless glint in his eyes when he mutters to his glass, "Why not have another drink? You and I both know you've given up, too."

She doesn't correct him out loud, knowing that explaining the difference between giving up hope for herself and giving up hope in general are two very different things.

The motel room door eases open soundlessly, thanks to Tabitha having strategically left it unlocked, so Sam's entrance goes unnoticed by Dean until their younger brother teasingly says, "Sending someone a candygram?"

Dean pulls the glass of whiskey from his lips, turning to stare in surprise at the youngest Winchester, watching as their sister moves to warmly welcome him, unsurprised by his sudden appearance.

Tabitha gives her younger brother a fond smile as she stops in front of him, pulling him down into a hug, and kissing his cheek before she releases him. "Good to see you, Sammy. I'm glad you made it so quick," she whispers in his ear before letting him stand upright again.

He looks mildly surprised at her uncommonly affectionate welcome, so she laughs and waves it away, assuring him, "Don't worry. I think I'm just feeling sappy. Must be that time of the month or something."

There's no need for Sam to think there's anything out of the ordinary wrong. Just the impending doom of the apocalypse. She gives Sam's hand one last squeeze, and then moves away to stand beside him.

Still holding his tumbler of whiskey, Dean attacks, "You told Sammy where I was?" He plunks the glass down with a heavy hand, surprising Tabitha when it doesn't shatter from his force. "I thought you were gonna back my play, Tabitha?"

In response to his accusatory tone, she gives a noncommittal shrug. "I said I'd back whatever play we make _together_. All of us. That includes Sammy. And if you guys agree that you kamikazeing yourself with Michael is the only option, then hell yes I'll back your play. But _we_ haven't decided that that is our only choice here. So, yeah, I called Sammy. Well, err, I texted him."

Hands in his coat pockets, still looking a bit hurt at having been left behind in the first place, Sam quietly assures Dean, "It wasn't that hard to figure out anyway. I mean, you're gonna kill yourself, right? It wasn't too hard to figure out the stops on the farewell tour. How's Lisa doing, anyway?"

Ignoring Sam's question, Dean tries to convince his siblings, "I'm not gonna kill myself."

"No? So, Michael's _not_ about to make you his muppet?" Sam asks him. When Dean only looks annoyed as he takes another drink, Sam continues, "What the hell, man? This is how it ends? You just…walk out?"

Turning his anger on their sister, Sam continues, "And you just _let_ him?"

Defensively, Tabitha reminds him, "Hey, I told you where he was. Saved you a bit of time in trying to hunt him down. I wasn't just _letting_ him walk out. But I knew he had someone out there to say goodbye to. And he had the right to do it before things get bad. Because no matter what we do next, things are _going_ to get bad, Sam." Lowering her voice, she apologetically and bitterly reminds him, "You and I don't have anyone that needs saying goodbye to like Dean did."

Picking up the half-full bottle on the dresser next to him, Dean sardonically intones, "Well, this is touching and all, but I guess that's what I'm doing, Sam, despite what you and Tab think."

"How could you do that?" Sam heatedly demands, tears gathering in his eyes but not falling.

"How could _I_?" Dean snaps in return. "All you've ever done is run away!" he shouts, waving angrily and encompassing both his brother and sister in his heated gesture. "Both of you."

"And I was wrong every single time I did," Sam reminds him, looking to Tabitha for her agreement before amending, " _Both_ of us. We were _both_ wrong for running away."

"Sam's right, Dean," Tabitha agrees, taking a step forward as she tries to convince her older brother to keep fighting. "We were. _I_ was wrong for leaving you like I did back then. For staying away. For not coming back when Dad died and you asked me to. But I'm here now. _We're_ here now. We're not running anymore."

Spreading his hands wide, Sam haltingly pleads, "Just…please…not now. Bobby is working on something."

Unconvinced, Dean challenges, "Oh, really? What?" When Sam has no answer, Dean tells him, "The two of you got nothing, and you know it."

In a low voice, Sam explains, "You know we have to stop you."

Sniffing, Dean plunks his glass down one more time, moving to stand in front of his siblings. "Yeah, well, the two of you can try. But just remember, you're not all hopped up on demon blood this time. And I taught the both of you. There's no world where you can take me down. Even together."

"That may be," Tabitha admits, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I made sure that Sammy brought a little extra help."

Realization dawning on him, Dean spins around to face Castiel just as the angel appears. Before Dean can either fight or run, the angel lifts his hand, touching the oldest Winchester on the forehead, and then dispassionately watching as he crumples to the floor.

Looking up to her younger brother, Tabitha sighs, "Well, now we just have to figure out getting him safely to Bobby's."

* * *

Dean only allows them a few hours at attempting to pour through Bobby's books for a Hail-Mary before he starts deriding them.

"Yeah, no, this is good, really," he snarks, pacing around the living room of Bobby's house, not helping his siblings or Bobby. "Eight months of turned pages and screwed pooches, but tonight—tonight's when the magic happens."

"You ain't helping," Bobby reminds him, not looking up at his sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, well, why don't you let me get out of your hair, then?"

That comment does bring Bobby's attention from the book, forcing him to look up. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Reality happened. Nuclear's the only option we have left. Michael can ice the Devil, save a boatload of people."

'But not _all_ of them," Bobby growls in return. "We got to think of something else."

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say," Dean warns. "But if Lucifer burns this mother down and I could have done something about it, guess what—that's on me!" Dean yells, pointing emphatically at himself.

"What about me?!" Tabitha shouts, standing from the book littered table and twisting to face her brother as her temper snaps. "Because it's on _me_ , too, Dean. You're not the only one that can do something about all of this. _I_ can, too. So why don't I call her up, Dean?" She throws her arms wide as if making a sacrificial offer. "Why don't I call her up and say 'yes, take me'?!" She stalks closer to jab a finger in her brother's chest. "You wanna go nuclear?" she repeats. "Then let's go nuclear, dammit. Let's blast this whole goddamned universe apart. 'Cause I'm starting to see what she meant about it being better. About not having to watch her brothers fight each other this way. I mean, maybe you're right. What's the point? So why stop at lighting just this planet on fire. Let's light up the whole universe, Dean. Let's set it _all_ on fire. 'Cause if you can't believe in either me or Sammy anymore, I don't see the point in fighting at all."

Lowly and meaningfully, Dean whispers to her, "I didn't say I don't believe in _you_."

Appalled at the implication in his words—and ignoring the sudden inhale of breath from the youngest Winchester—she shoves at her older brother's chest, backing away from him. In a barely constrained voice, she whispers, "That's just as bad, Dean. And if you can't believe in this _whole_ fucked up family…then I don't know that I see the point anymore, either."

She tries to storm out of the room, but Castiel catches her by the elbow to stop her just as she hears Bobby pick up where she left off in trying to get through to Dean.

"You can't give up, son," Bobby argues.

Dean's caustic answer is drowned out as the angel holds her arm, pulling her sideways a step closer to him, until he leans down to whisper warningly in her ear, "Don't do anything reckless, Tabitha."

She starts to pull away from him, but stops at his whispered and heartfelt plea, "Please. All I've tried to do was to protect you. Don't throw away every sacrifice I've made."

Looking up, she stares into his weary eyes, and seeing the testament of that sacrifice in his gaze, she whispers, "I know you think what you did was with the best of intentions, Cas. But you know where they say that road leads. And I'd of been better off if it had only led to Hell. I'm damned far worse off now."

He releases her and she starts to pull away when they hear Bobby's shouted voice, causing them both to turn to look at the older hunter.

"—Because I promised _you_ I wouldn't give up!"

Before Tabitha can break the loaded silence to ask what she'd missed, Castiel grabs his head next to her, doubling over in pain.

Reaching out for his arm, she helps support him and hold him upright, pushing him back against the wall next to the fireplace, though he still hunches forward against her shoulder.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam questions behind her.

Strangely, Tabitha can almost _feel_ that he's concentrating on something. Trying to hear something that's just a little too far away for her to hear.

"No," Castiel answers Sam in a pain-filled voice, finally opening his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Sam demands.

Pushing himself upright, the angel stares into Tabitha's eyes and replies, "Something's happening."

"Where?" Dean presses.

A flash of something flits across the angel's mind, and before Tabitha can think to be freaked out by seeing that flash of inner thought, she grabs his arm to demand, "I'm going with you."

The angel only hesitates briefly before nodding in acquiescence, and then grabbing her other arm and transporting them to a forest.

Looking around at the destruction in stupefaction, Tabitha asks, "What happened here?"

An eerie silence fills the air, making her skin crawl with the wrongness of hearing no wildlife or even a breeze. She'd never realized before how noisy a forest usually sounds, until she found herself standing in the total silence of this one.

Castiel slides his hand down to hers, silently tugging her along in his wake as they pick their way through the leaf-littered ground. His grip gives her courage she didn't realize she needed. They walk further, stepping over downed trees towards what appears to be the epicenter…of whatever happened. All of the downed trees spread outward away from a particular part in the forest. As if a blast of some sort had gone off there.

Again, Tabitha whispers, "What happened here, Cas?" It seems wrong to raise her voice in the resounding silence.

Suddenly, he stops, and then points to a piece of ground that seems to be slowly moving, pushing upwards as if something is buried alive there and struggling to the surface.

She kneels to inspect it, but spins around when she feels the electrifying sensation of another angel appearing behind them.

Castiel twirls to meet the attack, raising one hand to block the silver, triangular blade the other angle had been trying to stab him with. His own identical blade seems to appear from nowhere and the two angels begin grappling with each other. They break apart, each adjusting their grips on their blades, only to run at each other again. Castiel grabs for the other angel at takes a swipe at him, missing as the angel jumps over his blade, summersaulting across the ground and springing to his feet once more.

When the angel turns and rushes Castiel again, they lock arms once more, each blocking the blade of the other with their free hand.

Tabitha sees a second angel suddenly appear a few paces behind Castiel, eyeing his unprotected back.

When he rushes towards Castiel, she jumps behind the attacker, her hand closing over his fist on the blade, redirecting the blade from Castiel's back, and pushing it forward into the stomach of the angel still grappling with Castiel.

The first angel drops his blade as a blinding light emits from him, going slack and falling to the ground in a burst of power that steals Tabitha's breath. Castiel grabs the dropped blade before it falls more than a few inches, swinging it backwards into the angel between his back and Tabitha's chest.

Only nicked by Castiel's swipe, the angel spins towards Tabitha, knocking her hands away from himself and elbowing her in the face.

As she staggers backwards, she sees Castiel spin and knock the second angel to the ground, crouching over him as he ruthlessly stabs the blade into the angel's chest like a stake.

After a second shock blast erupts from the other angel, the clearing falls silent once more.

Castiel looks up from his crouched position, staring at Tabitha as he whispers, "You saved my life."

Her head cants to the side at the incredulity of his tone. "Of course I did," she tells him confused by his bewilderment.

Standing from his crouch, he steps closer, an angel blade now in each of his hands. Shifting them to one hand, he reaches out to pull her to her feet, and then gently wipes the backs of his fingers under her nose.

Feeling him wipe away the wetness there, she reaches up as well, finding a bit of blood still trickling from her nose. Testing the bridge of cartilage, she assures him, "I'm fine. It's not broken. Not even bleeding that bad." Though she's certain it will swell, enough even that she might soon be sporting the ever-unflattering raccoon look.

Castiel slides his hand along the underside of her jaw, fingers wrapping at the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin under her ear.

As her eyes drift shut with the pleasant sensation, he leans close to whisper in her ear, "Thank you."

She's startled by his thanks, and remembering that stunned look in his eyes, she wonders if he'd really thought that she would have let him die. No matter how angry she's been…she could never do that.

Before she can speak, they hear moaning coming from the ground, and looking over, they see that the same spot of earth and decaying leaves is still moving.

Castiel's hand slides down her arm, but instead of grabbing her hand as he'd done before, Castiel presses one of the angel blades into her palm, curling her slack fingers around the handle when she stares up at him in shock.

Pointedly, he tells her, "This is the only weapon that can kill an angel."

He turns, leaving her to stare at the bloody blade in her hand, and steps over to the strange patch of earth at the center of the felled trees.

Dropping his own bloody blade, he crouches once more, digging in the earth until a muddy hand shoots through, blindly searching for escape from its earthly prison.

Gasping in surprise, she darts forward, helping to pull the dirt away from whoever has been buried alive in the ground. When a bit more dirt is pulled away, Castiel grabs the wrist of the person, standing and pulling them from the ground with ease no human could replicate.

He drops the muddy figure on the ground next to where Tabitha still kneels.

Falling backwards for the second time, away from the muddy boy, she gasps, "Adam?"

* * *

Her half-brother is slung over the angel's shoulder when they reappear in Bobby's living room, and Tabitha wastes no time shouting for the rest of her brothers.

"Guys! Get in here, now!"

Bobby looks up from the scattered books around him, surprised to see the angel carrying the dirt-encrusted body of a boy over his shoulder.

"Boys!" he shouts, echoing Tabitha's summons with increasing urgency.

The angel less than gently dumps Adam on the cot Bobby has been using, and Tabitha rushes to help rearrange the boy as Bobby rolls his wheelchair closer, asking, "Who is it?"

Looking up, she glances at her other two brothers before quietly explaining to Bobby, "It's our half-brother. Adam."

As she watches their faces, she sees the surprise even on Castiel's face. As she begins brushing the drying mud from Adam's face, Bobby says, "Wait a minute. Your brother? Adam? _That_ brother?"

"Yes, Bobby," she huffs in exasperation, standing and rushing into the kitchen for wet rags to start cleaning the boy.

Dean leans over her to question curiously, "What happened to your nose?"

"Nothing." She waves his concern off, focusing on issues that are more important instead.

As she kneels to start washing the dried mud away, Dean turns to the angel, demanding, "Cas, what the hell?"

Castiel drops one of the angel blades from their attackers on Bobby's table, stating simply, "Angels."

Surreptitiously, Tabitha feels under her leather coat where she'd slid the other angel blade into the waist of her jeans at the small of her back. Castiel meets her gaze, nodding once, as if affirming that he wants her to keep the second stolen blade hidden.

Baffled by the one word answer, Sam presses for more detail. "Angels? Why?"

The fallen angel shakes his head once. "I know one thing for sure." He crosses the room to stand next to where Tabitha kneels, one hand gripping her shoulder as he leans over Adam. "We need to hide him now," Castiel declares, squeezing her shoulder and pressing his other hand over Adam's chest.

The action brings the boy around, causing his eyes to shoot open as he moans in agony. Tabitha reaches out to grab the boy's hand, remembering herself how painful it had been when Castiel had carved her ribs what seems like a lifetime ago. Or rather, it seems like she's experienced a few lifetimes worth of pain since then.

For a moment, Adam blindly grips her hand in return. But as the pain subsides, he looks around the room, and then drops her hand, scrambling back away from them all as he pants to regain his breath.

"Easy, it's okay," Tabitha tries to soothe, holding her hands out peacefully.

"Where am I?" Adam demands in confusion, reminding Tabitha that he wouldn't know them…and that _they_ hadn't actually met Adam, either. Just the things that ate him and his mother.

Sam attempts to calm the frantic boy. "It's okay. Just relax. You're safe."

"Who the hell are you?"

Dean steps in to explain. "You're gonna find this a little—a lot crazy, but we're actually your brothers and sister." He gestures at Sam beside him and down at Tabitha still kneeling by the cot.

"It's the truth," Sam confirms. "John Winchester was our father, too. See, I'm Sam—"

Adam cuts him off. "Yeah, and I'm sure that's Tabitha and Dean."

Tabitha rocks back on her heels in surprise, dropping one of the wet rags to the floor and feeling her brothers stiffen behind her.

Their half-brother continues. "I know who you are."

"How?" Sam questions, concern rising.

"They warned me about you."

Dean's quick to ask, "Who did?"

"The angels." More angrily, he demands, "Now, where the hell is Zachariah?!"

Fuming at the mere mention of the angel that delighted in torturing her, Tabitha pushes to her feet, muttering, "Why the hell am I not surprised that scumbag is involved?"

She feels Dean place a placating hand on her shoulder even as she feels the comforting hand of Castiel wrap around her other arm, fingers soothingly rubbing against the leather of her jacket. After a moment, the soothing fingers pull discreetly away, as if startled aware to what they'd been doing.

Trying to calm the situation down, Dean tells their youngest, half-brother, "Look, why don't you get cleaned up first. Tab was gonna try to wipe some of that mud away, but now that you're vertical, maybe a shower and some clean clothes are in order, man. You know, so you don't look like you've been rocking in a mosh pit."

* * *

An hour later, everyone is once more gathered around Adam as he sits stiffly on Bobby's cot, looking up at them by turns confused and spiteful.

Bobby and Dean take up positions sitting facing but flanking Adam, while Tabitha and Sam perch on the corners of Bobby's cluttered desk. The angel waits further behind the group, seeming most comfortable in his prior position leaning near the hearth.

Arms braced against the back of the chair Dean has straddled in reverse, he asks Adam, "So, why don't you just tell us everything? Start from the beginning."

Adam seems a bit uncomfortable, woodenly holding the glass of water Tabitha had brought for him as he surveys his audience. Seeming to realize that he doesn't have many other options, Adam sighs and begins his tale. "Well, I was dead and in Heaven…except it—it, uh, kind of looked like my prom. And I was making out with this girl. Her—her name was Kristin McGee."

"Yeah, that sounds like Heaven," Dean nods in agreement.

Under her breath, Tabitha comments, "Doesn't sound much like the Heaven I got to see while running from angels and being tortured. Looked more like Gitmo angel style." She light-heartedly scoffs and says a little louder, "Kristin McGee. Sounds more like a fitness instructor on one of those lame workout videos."

Dean glances over at his sister, throwing her a sly wink before turning back to tease Adam. "Did you get to third base?"

Sam, ever uncomfortable with those kinds of comments even being hinted between his older siblings, clears his throat, trying to bring them back on topic. "Just, uh…just keep going."

Adam relents with a nod. "Well, these—these angels, they popped out of nowhere, and they tell me that I-I'm chosen."

"For what?" Sam asks, all three Winchester siblings leaning forward a bit in anticipation.

"To save the world?"

Looking baffled, Dean asks him, "How you gonna do that?"

Completely unruffled, Adam answers, "Oh, me and some archangel are gonna kill the Devil."

"What archangel?"

"Michael. I'm his, uh, sword or vessel or something. I don't know."

With a dry laugh, Dean replies, "Well, that's insane."

Behind them, Castiel softly refutes, "Not necessarily."

Turning around on his chair, Dean demands, "How do you mean?"

"Maybe they're moving on from you, Dean."

"Well, that doesn't make sense," he scoffs.

Looking down, Castiel flatly returns, "He's John Winchester's bloodline, Sam's brother. Tabitha's as well. It's not perfect, but it's possible."

In frustration, Dean mutters, "Oh, you got to be kidding me."

"Why would they do this?" Sam asks, turning to look at the angel as well.

Tabitha twists on the far corner of Bobby's desk, bringing her legs up to cross them under herself as she, too, turns to face the angel. "Is this some kind of back-up plan? Plan B for if they can't get Dean to say 'yes'?"

The angel's eyes continue to stare fixedly at the floor. But proving that he is listening, he nods once, saying, "Maybe they're desperate. Maybe they've wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them." With his last barb, the angel's eyes move to stare accusingly at the eldest Winchester.

Dean twists back to Castiel, snapping at him, "All right, you know what? Blow me, Cas."

Sam quickly denies the entire turn of events, completely angered by the revelations. "Look. Now way. After everything that's happened, all that crap about destiny, suddenly the angels have a plan 'B'?" He glances around the room, asking, "Does that smell right to anybody?"

Tabitha remembers Azrael approaching her the last time in Heaven. She'd been using their mother as a vessel then. And it worked because of the bloodline. But Sam's right, she realizes, she already had a vessel in their mother. So if any vessel works, why was she still hounding and threatening Tabitha to say "yes"? Why did it have to be _her_?

Adam breaks her from her thoughts, looking annoyed as he tells them, "You know, this has been a really moving family reunion, but, uh, I got a thing, so—"

He starts to stand, but Sam leans forward to push him back down. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, no. Sit down. Just listen, okay? Please."

Adam shakes his head, but does turn back to pace in front of the cot as he mutters, "It's unbelievable."

He sits again as Sam starts. "Now, Adam…the angels are lying to you."

"That's what they all do," Tabitha bitterly breaks in. "They're all full of crap and lies." Realizing that Castiel is still standing just out of the corner of her eye and that she's still taking some of her anger at him out in front of her brothers, she glances back, covering by sheepishly adding, "No offense, Cas."

His eyes drop once more, and he doesn't move in response.

On the cot, Adam barks a laugh, darkly denying, "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Really?" Sam scoffs. "Why not?"

"Um, 'cause they're angels."

Still looking down, Castiel regretfully supplies, "That doesn't make us infallible."

Searchingly, Sam glances at the ceiling before he continues trying to get through to Adam. "They tell you they were gonna roast half the planet?"

"They said the fight might get pretty hairy, but it is the Devil, right? So we got to stop him."

"They tell you that if this fight doesn't go exactly the way they want it to, that another angel wants to instead roast the whole damn universe? Heaven and Hell, too?" Tabitha breaks in, bracing her hands on her knees.

Adam leans forward to meet her gaze, eyes narrowing as he answers her as assuredly as he had Sam. "Yeah. And they said that was why we had to move on the Devil now. Before there was any chance that it could go wrong."

Huffing, Sam informs him, "Yeah, but there's another way."

"Great. What is it?" Adam asks without hesitation.

Derisively, Dean comes back with, "Well, we're working on the power of love."

"How's that going?" Adam dares.

"Not good," Dean sardonically grins.

Frustration growing, Sam breaks in, "Look, Adam…you don't know me form a hole in the wall, I know, but I'm begging you. Please, just trust me. Give me some time."

"Give me one good reason," Adam challenges.

"Because we're blood."

"You got no right to say that to me," their half-brother darkly replies.

"You're still John's boy," Bobby tries to reason.

"No, John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year. I didn't have a dad," Adam argues. Looking back to his half-siblings, he informs them, "So, we may be blood, but we are not family. My mom is my family, and if I do my job, I get to see her again. So, no offense, but she's the one I give a rat's ass about, not you."

"Fair enough," Sam agrees, "but if you have one good memory of Dad—just one—then you'll give us a little more time. Please."

"We're not asking you for a commitment," Tabitha reminds him. "Just a little time."

* * *

Tabitha wanders through the kitchen, not looking up from her book as she softly pads over to the fridge.

"Were you headed somewhere?"

Adam stops in his tracks at the side door off the hallway, turning to scowl when he hears her question.

"Out for a…beer," Adam attempts to lie, trying to cover his failed escape.

Eyes still scanning the Latin passage she's translating, Tabitha props the fridge open with one hip, reaching in without looking and grabbing two longneck bottles. As she lets the fridge close, she turns to underhand lob one at her younger half-brother, finally tearing her eyes from the book to look up at him.

He's still scowling as he grabs the beer from its arc through the air at him. Sighing, he slumps down again at the table.

"You know," Tabitha conversationally tells him, "sneaking out is kinda pointless. I learned all the best tricks from Dean for sneaking out undetected when he would cut out late at night growing up, and practiced spotting all of them with Sammy when _he_ tried to sneak out. And being the only girl, I learned _plenty_ of proven techniques for sneaking out from the watchful male eyes of the family myself. So I wouldn't try anything here. Unless you're willing to bring your A game."

"Great," Adam mutters under his breath, poking once more at his half-eaten sandwich.

Tabitha glances over his shoulder, frowning as she asks, "Did you want something else? Or something more with that? I'm not much of a cook—and Bobby never has much outside of pork and beans—but I can try to fix you _something_ different if you want. I make some mean macaroni and cheese. Rarely burn it."

Turning to full-on glare at her, Adam tells her, "You know, your brother pitched this whole dewy-eyed bromance thing, but the truth is, I'm on lockdown, aren't I?"

Shrugging, Tabitha lowers herself into the chair across the small kitchen table from Adam, setting her book aside as she tells him, "You know how parents tell you that they're doing something for your own good? Usually making you do something you don't want to do. Like when Dad wouldn't let me play with dolls and made me learn to sanctify water into Holy Water. And the deadliest places to stab someone when I was seven-years-old, you know, instead of teaching me how to write my name." When Adam's eyebrows fly upward, she chews her lip and shakes her head. "Just me? Oh well. You get the picture. This is like that. You may not understand why this is important—just like I didn't then, but believe me. This is. And you're safer here. We're just trying to protect you."

"Protect me? I suppose Dad was just trying to protect me, too," Adam disputes, leaning forward over the table. "Protected me and my mom so well that monsters ate us."

Biting her cheek, Tabitha admits, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he didn't know it would turn out that way. But if we'd known…we would have been there for you."

"Right," Adam bites out sarcastically, finally leaning back in his chair and taking the beer she'd given him. "Just one big, happy, screwed up damn family. Maybe we could hop in the family truckster and pop on down to Wally World."

Pushing to her feet again, and taking her bottle and book with her, Tabitha smirks down at her brother, leaving him with one last thought before she departs. "No matter what you say or think, you fit right in with this family. Snarky…quick-tempered…and just as stubborn as any other Winchester."

She steps past him, ruffling his hair despite him shoving her hand away. "Welcome to the family, kid. You're a Winchester whether you want to be or not."

* * *

Tabitha spots her younger brother hurrying up the stairs from the basement, and quickens her pace to catch him before he can head up to the second floor of Bobby's house.

"Sam? Sam! Wait up. How's Dean?" she asks, jogging to catch him at the bottom of the stairs. She'd hated them having to lock their older brother up in Bobby's safe room, but she'd agreed that Dean was the more dangerous threat between their obstinate brothers and should be kept there until they could better reason with him. Or at least all of them come up with some kind of consensus on a plan. Whatever that was going to be. And whatever it was…she had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

Sam stops briefly at the bottom of the stairs when she grabs his elbow, but doesn't turn around. "He's fine," her younger brother answers stiffly. "I'm tired. I'm gonna hit the rack."

Grown or a little boy, Tabitha has always been able to hear the emotion in her younger brother's voice, so when Sam tries to pull away again to continue up the stairs, she maneuvers in front of him, lightly jumping up a few steps before turning to face him. From the time he'd hit his growth spurt and outgrown her…and then Dean…Tabitha had learned to use whatever advantages she had to keep the upper hand with her _little_ brother.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders to keep him from turning away, she demands, "What's going on? What happened?"

Sam's head remains tipped down for a moment, but when he looks up, she can see the tears sparkling in his eyes. Still, he tries to remain stoic, telling her, "Nothing, Tab. It's nothing. He just took a hunk outta me is all. I probably deserved it."

"What did he say?" she more gently inquires, her hands changing from bracing against his shoulders to rubbing soothing circles against his worn flannel shirt.

Finally, Sam relents and admits in a harsh whisper, "He doesn't trust me. He doesn't trust that I'll hold out. He's convinced I'll turn and say 'yes' to Lucifer."

Feeling his shoulders shake under her palms, Tabitha pulls her brother closer, sighing at the way he collapses against her shoulder. She soothes him silently for a minute, then softly assures him, "It's okay, Sammy. He's just having a lapse in faith. We all have lapses in faith. Even with each other. He just needs time to remember. Time to remember that you're our brother and that you _will_ make the right choice."

"I didn't before," he miserably whispers against her shoulder, shaking with silent tears.

Tabitha pushes Sam back, forcing him to look up at her again. When she's certain that he's looking at her and really listening, she reassures him, "But you learn from your mistakes. And Dean'll remember that. Just…give him time."

Seeming to feel a little better, Sam gives her a crooked smile, asking her, "You're not having a crisis of faith anymore, either? I mean, you're not getting drunk like you were a couple of days ago. So is your faith in us restored?"

Squeezing his shoulders, Tabitha smiles and promises him, "Sam, I didn't lose faith in you or Dean. Never in you guys." Before he can answer, she changes the subject, wanting him to get his mind off Dean's foul mood. "Why don't you head to the kitchen and keep an eye on Adam for a while now. I'll head down and check in with Mr. Sunshine downstairs."

"Sure," Sam agrees, reaching up and squeezing her hand gratefully one last time before turning away. At least he's smiling again.

Tabitha knows the tingling sensation of power crawling up her spine like the back of her hand, and isn't surprised when she hears Castiel's voice further up the stairs behind her.

"Is it me you lost faith in?"

For a moment, Tabitha considers ignoring the question and continuing to her destination in the basement. But the genuine hopelessness in his whispered voice stills her feet.

Instead, she turns and watches as he slowly descends the stairs that separate them, until he's left standing on the next step above her, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Their chests are only inches apart.

Strangely, his height advantage doesn't make her feel at a disadvantage. And a part of her files that thought away for dissection at another time.

"I think I lost faith in _us_ ," she replies, surprising even herself when she finally speaks.

The angel flinches at the whispered answer as if she'd shouted the words at him. Whether at the notion of there having _been_ a "them" or at the continued reminder of his actions being the root of the cause she isn't sure.

"My intention was never for you to be hurt. I just wanted to protect you," he stubbornly reminds her, one hand seeming to unconsciously reach out, one finger running up and down the bare skin of her arm in a feathery caress.

Sighing in frustration at the same words being repeated to her, she assures the angel, "I know you had the best intentions, Cas. And believe it or not, I _do_ forgive you for what you did _because_ I know you were trying to protect me in some strange way. It's the lies I can't forgive. You had several opportunities to tell me the truth. To tell me what was going on before I had to find out the way I did. The hard way. And I don't know what to say anymore. You have brought me to that moment when words run dry."

Tabitha reaches up to grab Castiel's wrist, stopping his fingers from caressing her arm. But instead of pushing him away, she slides her grip down to his hand, lacing her fingers through his and staring up into his eyes as he searches hers. She wonders what he sees shining in her eyes.

"I _do_ forgive you for what you did, Cas. Because I really do believe you thought you were protecting me," she continues firmly. Then, she pulls her hand away, their fingers untangling as she leans back and lets her hand drop to her side. "But you can't keep trying to always do something wrong but with the best of intentions. Maybe it'll work out well a few times and everything will be okay. But one of these days, you're going to cross a line. You're going to burn one too many bridges. Someday, you'll do something wrong but with the best of intentions, and it'll be too far…and I just won't be able to forgive you. And neither will anyone else."

After her words sink in for a few moments, Castiel nods and haltingly replies, "I feel…regret. Regretful for…" he slowly gestures back and forth in the small space between them, "the damage I've done to the…bond we share. Shared. I don't know how to repair it."

"You can't force it," she explains, regret darkening her reply. "It takes time to repair what's been broken. If it can _ever_ be what it was before." She glances away as she gathers her courage, and steeling herself, looks back up into the intense blue eyes of the angel. "I don't know if _we_ can ever be what we were before. You hurt me more than I can describe by not trusting me enough to tell me what was going on and what I was accepting. Or what I was giving up. That you thought so little of me that you could just brush aside the idea of telling me what was going on… But I do know that I miss my friend, Cas. With everything that's happening… If the world's gonna… I just want my friend back, Cas. Can we just be friends again?"

She ignores the tears that glisten in her vision, and the tears the make her voice low and husky, but stares up at the angel instead of turning away, awaiting a response from him. Always waiting for him. She wonders if she will ever be able to escape that.

Yet, no matter what her mind says or she tells herself, her heart thrums a different beat. It reminds her of all the lines she's already crossed for him. Lines that can't be uncrossed. Bridges that can't be unburned.

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn,_ her heart screams.

But her mind still tells her to protect herself.

Which will win out in the end?

When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. Forcing her to strain to hear the anguished words. "Some days, I ask myself time and again, 'Why did I rebel? Why did I turn against my brothers and sisters?'"

Blindly reaching out, Tabitha finds his hand between their bodies, reassuringly squeezing it as she answers, "Because it was the right thing. For Dean. And even for Sam. You rebelled to help _them_."

"What about you?"

For a second, her breath stills, and she almost convinces herself that her mind hadn't heard right. But the angel stares down expectantly, awaiting her answer.

"I'm just the girl in the middle. The girl trying to help her brothers. The girl trying to help the angel understand the strange mortals. I'm not important. Nothing to rebel for."

Despite the conviction of her words, her free hand slips into the pocket of her jeans, caressing the dark golden circle and smoothing across the sleek gems. It's a constant reminder of her momentous "what if?" But it seems like an ever-diminishing promise.

Even her only other memento of that…journey…is an ever-darkening hope. The Polaroid remains folded in her back pocket, but she knows what she'd see if she looked at it. An image of a blissfully happy couple, slowly fading and blurring into obscurity. The background had long gone hazy, but now even the image of herself and Castiel has begun to blur. Only the bright smile on her lips, and the intense look of love in his eyes remain in focus.

But how long can it last?

Castiel's hand unerringly finds her cheek, cupping her jaw with aching familiarity as he whispers, "You're something special."

Disrupted from her thoughts, she smiles faintly at the familiar words. They're ones he's told her before. With a light touch, she reaches up to tug his hand down into both of hers, holding it between them as she contests, "Not that special." Shaking her head, she reminds him, "It's Sam and Dean. It's always been about them. And they'll figure out a way to stop all of this. I'll make sure of it. If it's the last thing I do."

In a low, desolate voice, he whispers, "Lead me, save me from my solitude."

Not knowing how she can answer him with the way things have been, or what more can be said, she releases the angel's hand, stepping backwards down one step before turning to head down the others, at the bottom of the stairs, she turns back, having to ask, "Can we at least still be friends, Cas? I don't want to be lonely either."

At first, he doesn't answer. Then, he slowly descends the stairs after her, pausing beside her at the bottom of the staircase.

"Of course," he agrees, nodding as a look of grief and sadness flit across his face before it becomes an impenetrable mask once more. "If that's what you want." He nods back up the stairs, telling her, "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll check on your brother."

Her head barely hits her pillow when she feels the painful explosion of power that accompanies her angel being banished by a blood sigil.

* * *

Castiel had been searching for Dean since the moment he'd regained enough power after being banished by the human's blood sigil. It takes time, but listening to prayers finally pays off.

Appearing next to the man with fervent and impassioned prayers on his lips, and Dean Winchester on his mind, Castiel tells the man, "You pray too loud," and touches the man's shoulder to silence him.

Grabbing Dean, he shoves him into an alleyway away from the other humans.

Shocked, Dean demands, "What, are you crazy?!"

Feeling that it might be close to the truth, Castiel slams Dean from one wall to another across the alley, before throwing him again. Remembering Tabitha's insistent words that his rebellion had been for Sam and Dean's sake, he demands, "I rebelled for this?!"

Not wanting an answer from Dean, he slams his fist into the human's face. With the withering of his Grace, his hands feel the instant pain of the impact, and it feels strangely…comforting. So he quickly punches again. Trying to reconcile how he'd fallen so far for a human that would spurn his sacrifices and give himself up to the other angel's whims for war and bloodshed.

After a third punch, the pain begins to throb in Castiel's hand, but the feeling is somehow…right.

Still shouting, he grabs Dean as the human doubles over, pulling him upright and grabbing his shirtfront to demand, "So that you could surrender to them?"

He twists and throws Dean back against the opposite wall, swinging his fist in an uppercut at the human's already bleeding jaw, and then delivering another punishing blow to his side when he doubles over against his pain.

"Cas! Please!" Dean pleads, blood trickling from his lips.

Not wanting those pleas, Castiel twists to throw Dean back across the alley, propping him once more against the wall as he threatens, "I gave everything for you. And this is what you give to me."

But it isn't Dean Winchester's bloody face his mind sees when he utters those words. It's another, fairer face, and laughing brown eyes that fills his mind when he thinks of whom he gave everything for. The very human that holds his Grace. That has somehow captured…him.

And then turned him away.

Pulling Dean from the wall, he pushes him back a step, and then winds up and punches him with all his might, pulling back and kicking the human when he doubles over once more.

Dean flies backwards into a chain-link fence, where he remains crumpled on the pavement, coughing and spitting blood from his beating. The beating seems more than deserved for failing Castiel after all he'd given up for him. For her.

Still, Dean manages to look up, defiantly daring the angel, "Do it. Just do it!"

Castiel sees an anger that matches his own shining in Dean's face. Anger, he realizes, at the situation he finds himself in, and at himself for not being able to find a way out of it. Just as Castiel finds himself.

The anger recedes enough for Castiel to see more clearly. The angel knows he's furious with Dean for giving up after all he has sacrificed to help them get where they are, but he realizes that there's a lot of anger intertwined with Tabitha as well.

No. Not with _her_.

With himself.

He'd given up a lot to help Dean when the human had pleaded with him to do the "right" thing. But he'd given up more for the human that had become an anchor for him in this world. He'd rebelled for Dean and his cause. But he'd _fallen_ …was losing his Grace…for _her_.

And as much as he wants to be angry with her for ripping away the hand of comfort and kindness she'd once so willingly offered, he knows he can't place the blame on her shoulders.

He'd given up everything he had at the kindness her smile offered him, but she might well lose everything _she_ had because of _his_ actions.

He hadn't meant for it to be that way.

Hadn't thought about what would happen after she accepted his mark. He'd only thought far enough ahead to know that if he was going to die, he wanted…needed to know that she would be protected. Somehow.

The thought that his Grace would alter her so much that her own Heaven would be ripped from her hadn't entered his frantic thoughts that night. Just a strange…overwhelming need to do _something_ to protect her.

But in the back of his mind, he'd known there would be dire consequences and repercussions to her accepting the talisman of protection he'd fashioned to absorb his waning Grace. And he'd made the choice not to tell her.

And when she'd broached the matter of his talisman later…he'd deflected…and _lied_ to her.

Just as she'd said.

_He'd_ been the one to break the bond between them.

The pain in his chest won't relent. No matter how many times he strikes Dean. No matter how much he might convince himself that Dean deserves his wrath just as much as he deserves Tabitha's.

But she hadn't given him her wrath. She'd _forgiven_ him. As not even his Father could ever do for his firstborn. Her forgiveness was even more confounding…and more…profound than the kindness she always gave him. And somehow even more unanticipated, unforeseen, and…unattainable.

But granted so easily from her. With a kind touch. And a soft smile.

Unclenching his fist, Castiel finally looks past Dean's defiant stare, reaching down to tap his shoulder, granting him sleep.

* * *

"He's gone how?" Sam frantically demands again, still pacing in the kitchen as he shouts at Tabitha and Bobby.

After both Cas and Dean had disappeared at the same time—and they'd found Dean's blood sigil—Sam had left to search for their brother, leaving Tabitha and Bobby to watch over Adam. Which shouldn't have been a problem. Under normal circumstances.

Shoving his hands through his hair, Sam shouts, "What the hell, Tabitha?!"

"Watch your tone, boy," Bobby warns.

Folding her arms over her chest, Tabitha reminds, "You're not too big for me to beat the ever-loving piss outta."

"He was right in front of me," Bobby explains to Sam, "and he disappeared into thin air."

Shoving the stray hairs back from her face, Tabitha repeats to her brother, "I _told_ you. I was upstairs, and could hear the whispers of an angel's voice. By the time I realized it might be Zachariah, probably talking in Adam's dream, and got down here, it was too late. That asshole probably found out where he was from Adam himself and then had angels body-snatched him."

In truth, she partially blames herself. When she'd heard the whispers of an angel, she'd frozen, frantically trying to figure out if it was Castiel reaching out to her. To let her know he was all right or where Dean was. It had taken her too long to realize that the voice she was hearing wasn't the same smooth one of Castiel's real voice. And longer still to snap out of her daze and rush to where she'd left Adam.

"They did," Castiel confirms, suddenly appearing in the living room.

The other three turn in the kitchen, staring in shock at the nearly limp body of Dean being propped up by the angel. One of Dean's arms is slung over the angel's shoulders as he slumps against Castiel's grip.

"What the hell happened to him?" Sam asks in disbelief, taking in their brother's bloodied and swollen face.

"Me," Castiel informs simply. He maneuvers across the living room to unceremoniously drop Dean on Bobby's cot.

Wincing at the sight of the angel dropping a second brother in as many days in the same harsh manner on the same little cot, she hurries forward, scolding, "Gently, Cas."

Bobby seems less concerned with Dean's state, asking instead, "What do you mean, the angels took Adam? You branded his ribs, didn't you?"

"Yes," Castiel replies, and then gestures to where Tabitha bends over her unconscious older brother to inspect the damage. "But as Tabitha deduced, Adam likely tipped them in a dream."

"Well, where would they take him?" Sam asks, glancing back and forth to Dean's prone form and the angel standing in front of them.

Castiel thinks for a moment, and then realizes, "I think I know."

* * *

"I was right. They're holding Adam where they held your brother before Lucifer was freed."

Tabitha sighs and looks up at the angel standing in the middle of her bedroom. It crosses her mind to remind him that human custom would dictate that people who are only friends shouldn't be so familiar in each other's bedrooms, but she shoves it aside, knowing that those human intricacies are beyond the angel's comprehension.

"The same one you took me to meet Dean in before we went to Chuck's?" she clarifies in a weary and leaden voice.

"Yes."

Rubbing her hands against her jean-clad knees in an effort to ease her rising tension as she sits on her still unmade bed, she asks, "I'm guessing it's crawling with angels, right?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful," she sighs, flopping back onto her bed, staring helplessly at the ceiling.

Continuing her questions, she asks, "Did you let Sam know what you found?"

"Yes."

No longer eyeing the angel, she feels bold enough to comment, "That was quite the number you did on Dean."

"Yes."

Twisting to lay on her side, she turns to look at him, raising a brow as she asks, "Have anything more to do with a little something else than just subduing him?"

"Yes."

Rolling her eyes and propping her head up by her elbow, she demands, "Really, Cas? One word, monotone answers all I'm gonna get now?"

"You should stay here," he suddenly tells her, crossing the room and stiffly sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He doesn't turn to look at her, but his words turn fierce as he argues, "Both you and Dean should remain here. There's little to no chance that we can retrieve Adam, Dean is just as likely to surrender himself as help, and it's too dangerous for Zachariah to get his hands on you again. I won't let him."

She considers his words, and replays her discussion with Sam in her head.

"Sam and I already agreed to bring Dean with. We're gonna need everyone if we're gonna pull this off, Cas. And against all odds…we trust him to make the right choice in the end."

"He ran from here once to find Zachariah. You can't trust him," Castiel stubbornly maintains, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Tabitha snakes a hand across the bed to unclench his fist, lacing her fingers with his, and finally causing him to turn to stare down at her.

"Winchesters often make the wrong choice the first time around. Sometimes even the second and third. It's just the way bullheaded people like us are. Sometimes, it takes us a try or ten to get it right," she explains with a teasing smile, squeezing his hand.

He opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by Sam's voice shouting for her from downstairs.

With one last reassuring squeeze, Tabitha releases Castiel's hand and pushes up from her bed, giving the angel a more resigned smile as she tells him, "Guess that means he talked with Dean and it's time to go."

Castiel stands a moment after she does, stopping her with a tug on her elbow. "Please be careful," he implores one last time.

* * *

Dean glances around in confusion when Castiel transports the three siblings to the outside of what appears to be a group of old abandoned warehouses. Some of them sport weather-beaten signs for some kind of muffler factory.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean asks.

"Van Nuys, California," Castiel matter-of-factly explains.

"So where's that swanky room we were in?" Tabitha asks, looking around at the overgrown palm trees and scrub brush in bewilderment. Nothing about overgrown weeds screams swanky to her.

Distractedly, Castiel gestures at the warehouse they're currently walking beside. "In there."

Astonished, Dean replies, "The Beautiful Room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California."

"Where'd you think it was?"

"I-I don't know," Dean stutters. "Jupiter?"

Shrugging in more or less agreement, Tabitha adds, "A blade of grass, maybe. Wouldn't have guessed Van Nuys." Even though the place seems strangely abandoned, Tabitha can't deny the angelic power from the area that she can feel licking across her skin. Too strong and too foreign feeling to be accounted to just Castiel.

Rarely one to appreciate humor in tense situations, Sam tries again to steer them back on track. "Tell me again why you don't just grab Adam and shazam the hell out of here," he presses the angel.

Temper flaring slightly, Castiel rounds back with, "Because there are at least five angels in there."

"So? You're fast," Dean cajoles as they stop near an entrance of the building.

Forebodingly, Castiel explains, "They're faster."

Tabitha stiffens when Castiel begins removing his tie and loosening his white shirt. Even her brothers shift uncomfortably, sharing questioning looks with each other.

"I'll clear them out," Castiel continues, looking around in distraction.

Balling the tie up in his hands, Castiel looks back to the Winchesters as he continues directing, "You three grab the boy."

"No," Tabitha immediately disagrees. She knows that look of grim and stoic determination in Castiel's eyes. She'd seen it once before. The night he'd come to her in New Orleans. It had been the same night he'd given her the cursed charm on her wrist. But it had also been the same night he'd been certain would be his last on earth.

Whatever he's planning, she knows it's going to be reckless.

And she won't let him go alone.

Despite her general confusion about what she should feel about him and what they are…her heart knows, even if her mind can't decide.

Often to her detriment, she usually follows her heart.

"I'm going with you," she finally tells the angel when he stops speaking, waiting to hear her objection. "Dean and Sam can cover getting Adam. I'll watch your back."

Castiel's eyes dart surreptitiously between her brothers before focusing on her again, but they darken with worry as he tells her, "I'm planning to distract them. It'll be too dangerous for you."

"But not too dangerous for you to go in there without someone watching your back?" she challenges, rolling back her shoulders in determination.

"These are angels, Tab," Dean reminds her. "Not boy scouts."

Reaching behind her, Tabitha pulls out the angel blade Castiel had given her the day before. Spinning it in her hand with the practiced ease of a lifetime spent handling knives, she assures her brother, "I think I can handle them."

"This is our only chance," Castiel reminds her.

"Then it's all the more reason for you to have someone at your back, Cas," she stubbornly maintains. She raises her arm, shaking her bracelet dramatically at him. "Besides, with all the charms on this thing, they can't lay their whammy on me, right? This isn't like up in Heaven. I've got a body down here that the charms protect."

Castiel looks pointedly at the blade balanced in her palm. "They don't have to use their powers to harm you."

"I'm going with you," she flatly issues, using her most commanding tone of voice. The one that she generally reserves for her brothers when she's had enough of them ordering her around or not listening to her.

"This is a bad idea," Dean mutters to himself.

"Fine," Castiel relents to her, murmuring under his breath and turning towards the large wooden doors of the white warehouse.

"Whoa, wait," Dean suddenly interrupts, seeming to have second thoughts. "You two are just gonna take on five angels?"

"Yes," Castiel and Tabitha answer in unison. They'd fought two angels together. How much harder could three more be? Just because the angels will be ready and waiting for them to come rescue Adam doesn't mean it'll be any harder, right?

Tabitha scowls at herself to keep from talking herself out of what she needs to do.

"I'm not liking this," Dean argues. "Isn't that suicide?"

"Maybe it is. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure Tabitha makes it out okay," Castiel edgily tells him. "But at least I won't have to watch you fail." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't have the same faith in you that Sam and Tabitha do."

He steps away again, telling the boys over his shoulder, "You should check the perimeter one more time before we go in."

A weary exchange passes between Sam and Dean, but they finally nod and split up, each cautiously making their way around the outside of the warehouse Castiel has led them all to. Tabitha takes a moment to slip the angel blade back into her waistband at the small of her back. It feels strange to have the blade there instead of her customary Glock or Smith and Wesson, but somehow reassuring at the same time.

"Here," Castiel tells Tabitha, taking her hand and placing the balled up tie into it.

Closing her fist around it, she tilts her head to look up at the angel, startled by the way he sometimes stares so intensely at her. As if committing her every feature to memory, cataloguing every freckle that lightly dusts her nose.

"You'll come out of this okay," he assures her, seeming to be making a promise to himself more than reassuring her.

Shoving the balled up tie into her jacket pocket, Tabitha steps forward to grip the lapels of the angel's trench coat. "Promise me that you'll come out of this, too, Cas."

"I can't," he roughly whispers.

Swallowing against the bile she can feel rising in her throat, Tabitha suddenly tells him, "The thing about broken trust, Cas, is that it _can_ be rebuilt. It takes time…and a lot of effort…but it _can_ be rebuilt." Flicking away the tears she can feel threatening to fall with one shaking hand, she continues in a voice made husky with emotion, "But see, you have to be around for that to happen, Cas. And I want you to be around. I want you to be around for a long time."

Castiel reaches out, his fingers brushing her cheek and catching a few tears on his fingertips. "I have never understood human tears," he softly confides, eyes fixed on the glistening drops. "Surely, they are one of my Father's true miracles, and I cannot fathom why you would shed them for me. How could I possibly be worthy of such honor?"

Tugging desperately on his lapels, she demands with a voice that breaks, "Promise me that you'll be around long enough for us to fix this. To fix _us_."

Castiel suddenly seems to snap out of his daze, eyes turning from the tears on his fingertips, tracking back to her. Before she can react, his hands frame her face, holding her still as he swoops down. He captures the surprised inhale of breath on her lips, his tongue hungrily delving into her mouth, gliding along hers and demanding her response.

Without care for what was or is, Tabitha abandons all thoughts and reservations, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Words have never been her strong suit, and understanding them certainly hasn't been the angel's, so she pours all of her frustration and anger into the kiss. All of her fear and her yearning.

All of her love and her hope.

Her lips have always communicated better this way.

_Defenseless and silent, now I am here with you._

_Past all thought of right or wrong._

When Castiel's lips slowly retreat from hers, she's left breathless, and even the angel seems slightly that way, resting his forehead against hers as they gather their thoughts along with the greedy gulps of air.

Retreating more from her, Castiel stares down into her waiting gaze, apologetically telling her, "There's something I need to do." As he speaks, he slides a box cutter from his coat pocket.

Her gaze narrows on it. "What do you need to do?"

Nervously shifting his weight, he replies, "Insure that I remove all the angels from the warehouse before you get hurt." He clears his throat, finally squaring his shoulders and steadfastly telling her, "No matter how much my actions damaged things between us, I can't tell you I would have acted differently. I did what I thought best to protect you. Even if it earns your hatred for me, I'd do it again. Now, turn around. I don't think you'll want to see this." He returns to unbuttoning his shirt as he finishes speaking, nodding towards her with his chin, indicating for her to turn around.

Gobsmacked by the resolved and absolute way he tells her he wouldn't change anything he'd done, she mutely nods in assent and turns around, wincing and shuddering at the familiar meaty sound of blade against flesh behind her. She has an inkling of what the angel is doing, and thinks to herself that she definitely doesn't want to witness it.

"Promise you'll come back to me, Cas," she whispers to the angel behind her.

She can hear the angel buttoning his shirt once more, and feels him step behind her, the heat of his body warming her back, even through her leather coat.

Whispering in her ear, he answers, "If it's my choice, I'll always come back to you. So long as you let me."

_Always_ , her heart whispers. _Anywhere you go let me go, too._

The sudden cold at her back informs her that he's pulled away, and she silently laments his departure, but sends one quick prayer to God—prayer she hasn't engaged in in a long time—and promising that she will do everything she can to have Castiel's back.

"It's time," Castiel informs her when she turns around.

They walk silently to the wooden door of the warehouse just as Sam and Dean return. The four exchange silent nods before Castiel takes the first step to open the door.

As Tabitha passes through behind him, Dean gently calls out to her, "Watch your own back, too, Tab."

She gives him her best confident smile, and then silently crosses into the warehouse behind Castiel.

Nothing happens as she follows him further into the abandoned building. She'd almost expected to be attacked immediately upon entering, and when nothing happens, she sort of feels let down by the fear that had built up.

Still, she knows that's the very moment that a person's liable to be attacked, just when they let their guard down, so she slides her hand beneath her coat. With the weight of the angel blade in her hand once more, she follows Castiel as they circle around what she guesses might have been an office for the factory or perhaps some kind of management headquarters for the factory floor at one time.

Castiel moves closer to the door of the office, but suddenly spins back towards her, shoving her to one side just as she registers the feeling of an angel behind her.

As he grapples with the first angel, she spins to face the second closing in on his back, throwing up her blade to block the other angel's attack. The angel snarls at her when Tabitha blocks her next attempt to stab at Tabitha, muttering something in Enochian before trying to punch her in the spleen with a free hand.

Tabitha barely manages to block the punch as she feels an angel die in an explosion of power behind her. She hesitates briefly, a sudden fear gripping her at the thought that it might be Castiel, and that falter is enough time for the angel in front of her to drive her knee upwards into Tabitha's stomach.

Doubling over and backing away, she's suddenly yanked behind someone, and she sighs in relief at the sight of the familiar trench coat standing protectively in front of her.

Remembering her promise to watch his back, she twists, pressing her back against his as she surveys the angels closing in on them in a shrinking circle.

"Two for me, two for you," she mutters to the angel behind her.

As if in response, Castiel drops his blade. The loud clatter makes Tabitha give a startled jump as she turns to see him spread his empty arms out wide, daring the other angels, "What are you waiting for? Come on."

At his challenge, the other angels raise their blades, advancing in their circle.

"Cas, what are you doing?!" she hisses, eyes darting to his dropped blade.

He twists to stare at her, eyes locked meaningfully with hers as he vows, "I'll always do whatever I have to do to protect you."

Then, he rips open his white shirt, revealing the bloody sigil he'd carved into his own chest.

"Cas, no!"

He slams his hand across the sigil before she can reach him, blinding light and shuttering power from all five of the remaining angels overwhelming her and bringing her to her knees on the cold concrete.

She's still shaking and barely able to open her eyes when she feels someone wrap their arms around her, roughly hauling her to her feet and dragging her away unsteadily.

"Come on," she hears Sam roughly whisper in her ear. "We should get you out of here."

"Cas," she chokes out in a quavering lament, trying to get her feet to cooperate beneath her. "Cas, he's…" The notion is too unbearable to voice. Coughing, she wearily asks instead, "Where's Dean? Did you guys get Adam?"

Dean appears on her other side, and she almost collapses in relief at the knowledge that he must not have surrendered himself to Michael. She forces strength she doesn't feel into her body as she wraps an arm around him, pressing her forehead against his in relief, telling him, "I knew you'd do the right thing in the end, Dean. Winchesters pull through…eventually."

Leaning back and finally feeling strong enough to stand on her own, she turns to see Sam wiping blood from his face. But no sign of Adam.

Hesitantly, and dreading the coming answer, she asks, "Where's Adam?"

"Gone," Dean regretfully whispers.

"Castiel?" Sam asks in a fearful voice.

"Gone," Tabitha starkly confirms, feeling almost numb as she slowly spins in a circle to look around the warehouse. It's empty. And she can't feel an ounce of angelic power left.

"We'll get 'em," Dean assures her, a look of fight returning to his eyes that she isn't sure she's seen in a long time. "We'll keep fighting."

But despite his renewed vigor, she can barely muster half a fake smile.

"Sure we will," she whispers, but even to her own ears, the words sound lost and broken. She needs to find her angel if he's somehow survived. He has to have survived. Because she can't fool herself into thinking that she can live without him any longer.

_We've passed the point of no return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so bad of a wait this time, huh? :D
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> And hoped you liked the bonus Cas POV in the middle. I hope I was able to get across his self-anger and confusion. I wanted him kinda bouncing back and forth between anger with Dean and with Tab during his beat-down. Hope I sorta pulled it off.
> 
> And bonus points if anyone noticed the lyrics to a certain song sprinkled throughout. ;)
> 
> Thanks for your kind thoughts last time! Mostly it's been money trouble, but a friend in a nearby tourist town has given me a full-time summer job running one of her hotels, so hopefully that helps the money situation. Yay! Or not. Two full-time jobs now. :( But I'm hoping to still have time to write here and there. Maybe. But more importantly, not be fighting the stress and depression of bills piling up and not enough money to pay them. That kind of stress is killer for someone like me. And I hate the person it turns me into.
> 
> But I really appreciate your thoughts and kind words. I'm giving you guys the credit for all the good vibes in helping me find a second summer job when it was desperately needed.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts! Good, bad, or ugly, I love hearing from you guys!


	16. Chapter 16: Should I Stay or Should I Go?

"I need your help."

Shawn surreptitiously scoots past his door into the hallway, carefully shutting his apartment up behind him while placing himself almost protectively in front of it. "What are you doing here and how did you even find me?" he demands in a hushed whisper.

When she gets her first good look at the boy, she can't help pulling back and blurting out, "Did you lose a fight with a jar of ink?"

With narrowed eyes, he hisses, "Ha ha. Funny. What do you want?"

She spares a last appraisal of his new look: black clothes, dyed black hair, and even black mascara and nail polish. Somehow, all the black seems more surprising than the large nose ring he now sports, filling out his startling new look.

After shaking her head, Tabitha looks up and down the hallway, but sees no one that might overhear them.

"Whatever," she says, dismissing his radically changed appearance from all-star preppy boy to all-out gothic punk. "Like I said, I need your help. I could use your particular set of skills."

His black outlined eyes narrow accusingly. "And I asked how you found me."

She rolls her eyes in annoyance, bracing her hand against the doorframe into his apartment and leaning against it as she inches closer. "I'm the one who introduced you to your ID forger, remember? I went to Neal and asked him to give me the last few aliases the two of you created. Wasn't too hard once I had the new names you were using. And I do still have a few tricks up my sleeve for finding people, even if I'm not a Fed anymore."

Shawn deflates slightly, absently scratching his slightly longer, and much shaggier dyed locks. She can't help but wonder if his dye job is still fresh. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you knew Neal, first." Puffing back up again as he remembers his indignation, he asks, "I thought you were gonna leave me alone until I was ready?"

The accusation is enough for her to be chagrined. "I was trying to," she regretfully explains, wishing she could have given him more time to come to grips with the truth about the creepy crawlies in the night. "But I need your help, kid. So I was hoping you'd overlook me breaking my word to you this one time. You've got to know it's important if I'm actually breaking a promise to _you_." She sighs and reminds him, "You know I always keep my word."

He stares at her for a moment, seeming to weigh whether or not he believes her. Then, he sighs and reaches behind him for the doorknob.

"I probably don't have any choice, do I? You want to come in because if I don't let you in, someone's gonna end up dead, right?"

She frowns at his bitterness.

"Well, with any luck, if you give me what I need, it won't be you. I'm looking for someone." She tries lighthearted, sarcastic banter to brighten his bitterness, but she's afraid she just doesn't have enough lightness in her own heart to pull it off.

The door suddenly whips backwards out of Shawn's hand, the barrel of a shotgun rushing out towards Tabitha's face.

On instinct, she steps forward, raising an arm to deflect the cold metal barrel from aiming at her, griping it and trying to push it from the hands of its owner.

She has only the passing impression that she's fighting a young woman a little shorter than herself, a redhead dressed all in black to match Shawn.

"What the hell?!" she can hear Shawn screech. "Stop it!" She doesn't pause to decipher which of them he's yelling at.

Both women ignore his frantic protests and desperate arm flapping.

The redhead seems to realize her grip on the shotgun is lost, and let's go, throwing her forehead forward towards Tabitha's face.

Caught off guard, Tabitha catches the blow to her mouth and chin, but her height over the girl protects her nose from a blow that surely would have broken it.

Still, the shooting pain to her lips, teeth, and mouth causes Tabitha to stumble backwards and lose her own grip on the short-barreled shotgun. As it clatters to the floor, the redhead charges Tabitha, shouting as she does so.

The pain in Tabitha's mouth is instinctively sublimated, her focus back on the charging redhead. She holds her ground, waiting for the redhead's attack.

At the last second, she again steps into the redhead, grabbing her upheld arms by the wrists, and then pivoting behind the girl and using the momentum of her attack to slam her against the far wall of the hallway, wrenching her arms into a tight grip behind her back. To herself she thinks what she wouldn't give for her familiar handcuffs to help contain the hellion of a girl.

Even that much subdued, the girl pushes back from the wall, struggling to break free and trying again to head-butt Tabitha with the back of her head.

This time though, Tabitha's prepared, and tilts her head out of reach. Annoyed by the still flailing girl, she yanks her from the wall, tucking a foot between her legs to trip her and then slamming her face first to the floor as she straddles her kicking legs.

"Dammit! Enough!" she growls to the redhead's back pushing her harder into the floor as the girl struggles to regain the air Tabitha had forced from her lungs. "I don't know what your problem is, little girl. But stop it. Now!"

When she looks up at Shawn, she catches him staring at the scene in the hallway of his dingy apartment complex with a mixture of shock and lust swirling in his gaze. She's almost surprised neighbors aren't lined up to look at the commotion, but the type of apartment complex they're in screams of people who know how to mind their own business. Lest someone start poking into theirs.

Rolling her eyes at the gaping kid, she snaps, "Dammit, Shawn. Stop staring like this is your wet dream come to life." She gathers the girl's wrists in one hand at the small of her back, grabbing a fistful of copper red hair with the other to yank the girl's face from the worn wooden floor.

"She came outta your place," she irritably points out to Shawn. "Is she a friend of yours? Or should I assume she's a random burglar that broke in and just take care of her right now?"

Fear bright in his eyes, Shawn snaps from his lusty stupor.

"No! Don't hurt her, Tabitha. Please. This is just a misunderstanding. Please don't hurt her. You're here for me," he worriedly pleads.

"Y-you're not t-taking either one of us, you…evil b-bitch," the girl gasps, still struggling for breath. "V-vade, Satana, in-inventor et magis-magister omnis f-fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis."

Tabitha sits up in surprise at the breathy Latin coming from the girl underneath her. As she does so, the dim light of the hallway catches and glints on a necklace caught up in the copper curls fisted in her hand. Releasing just the hair, she holds onto the necklace, examining the silver pendant. One she recognizes well. An anti-possession charm. That, and the Latin the girl had been shouting the moment she rushed through the door finally click in Tabitha's mind.

Leaning back down over the girl and wrenching her head up once more, she hisses in the girl's ear, "Are you a hunter?"

Fear seeps from the girl's very pores, but it seems to embolden and strengthen her voice. "Humiliare sub potenti manu dei."

Shaking the girl by her fistful of hair, Tabitha snaps in annoyance, "I'm not a goddamned demon. And I don't know why you'd think so. Now. Are. You. A. Hunter?"

The girl swallows thickly despite the way her neck is curved at an extreme angle towards her back. But she refuses to answer.

Shawn suddenly kneels beside the two women, frantically answering, "Yes. Yes she is, Tabitha. Now, please! Let her up. Stop hurting her."

Ignoring the kid's pleas, she asks the girl instead, "Why would you think I was a demon? Or do you just assume everyone knocking on the door is?"

"I heard you threatening Shawn," she suddenly defends in a stubborn tone, but finally relenting to answer. "You said you were looking for someone and that you were gonna kill Shawn if you didn't find them. I _thought_ you were looking for _me_."

Releasing the girl and shoving her one last time at the floor, she stands while telling her, "Jesus, girl. I wasn't _threatening_ Shawn. You ever heard of sarcasm? And I sure as hell wasn't looking for _you_. I don't even know who the hell you are."

Shawn immediately attends to the girl, helping to turn her over and sit up as she tilts her head back to glare defiantly at Tabitha.

Dismissing the glare, Tabitha turns her own on the kid.

"A hunter? Really? You get a hard introduction to the reality of what's out there, and instead of keeping out of it like I told you, you decide to hook up with some _Twilight_ wannabe vampire stalker?"

The girl scrambles to her feet. "I don't know who the hell you are," she snarls, unobtrusively rubbing at her throat where Tabitha had painfully wrenched it backwards, "but I'm no pussy little girl who thinks vampires are cool. I'm a hunter. And I hunt demons."

"Well, good for you, Daphne," Tabitha says with false cheer. "But I don't really give a damn about how you and the gang hunt ghosts and monsters or anything else you have to say. You pointed a shotgun at me for no reason."

"I thought you were a demon come after me!"

"All the more reason you should stay away from this crazy chick!" Tabitha shouts at Shawn. "She's obviously got demons after her ass. So she's definitely not safe."

The hallway suddenly falls silent as they all look around, realizing where they are.

Clearing her throat, Tabitha jerks her head towards the open apartment, telling the other two, "Let's finish this conversation behind closed doors."

The redhead gives Tabitha one last glare before flouncing haughtily into the apartment. Shawn turns to follow her, but Tabitha holds him up by his elbow, warning him, "The first thing you get to do, is explain to me just how the hell you ended up here with Miss Elvira the hunter here."

* * *

"You went looking for more proof of the supernatural after I told you to lie low," Tabitha huffs in disbelief. "Do you not understand the definition of laying low?" she demands running an angry hand through her dirty blond hair where it had fallen over her shoulder, pushing it back. "I told you to stay safe, and you actively seek out little miss danger magnet over there." Under her breath she mutters, "Men are such idiots for any old rack and legs."

"Bite me," the girl growls.

"Her name's Ember," Shawn meekly points out when Tabitha continues to invent new names for the girl.

"'Ember,'" Tabitha repeats, shaking her head in annoyance. "This gets better and better," she tells herself, leaning back in one of Shawn's expensive office chairs.

For all that the apartment complex he's chosen is a dump—as is most of his own apartment—per usual, one area of Shawn's living space is filled with all the best toys and accessories: his office.

Rows of computer CPUs, monitors, and laptops line the three desks sandwiched against each other. With two high-end leather office chairs sitting in front of them.

Tabitha had commandeered one while Shawn had taken the other to explain how he'd ended up in Denver, and decided to start looking into the truth of the things that went bump in the night.

"I can't believe you read a blog online and then decided to go check out a haunted house when you know nothing about them," she sighs, forehead in her hand as she tries futilely to ease the tension headache building. To herself, all she can think is that she can see why some people choose to never have children. It's stressful enough watching out for Shawn. And he's not even hers!

"I just wanted to know if it was really real," he mumbles.

"What you saw in Fairfax didn't seem real enough?" she demands, waving an angry hand through the air. "That was stupid and dangerous, Shawn. You know nothing about ghosts and hauntings. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"Could have. But didn't."

Hearing the statement, Tabitha turns towards the far corner of the cramped living room/office where…Ember…is slouched irritably in the corner.

"Excuse me, Elvira?"

Pushing away from the corner, the girl snaps, "My name is Ember. And I said he didn't. I came along and got him out of there. And I took care of the ghost myself."

"Well, hooray for you. And how many hunts did he say you took him on after that? _Teaching_ him?" she angrily demands. "He has no business out there!"

"Hey!" Shawn snaps, jumping to his feet. "I think it's my right to decide. I wanted to learn. I can't just pretend I don't know what's out there now. And at least Ember's teaching me instead of just telling me to burry my head in the sand."

Rubbing at the tension again, and pushing back further into the soft leather, Tabitha mumbles, "I'm just trying to protect you, kid."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Shawn softly points out, a hint of annoyance creeping in. "And I know you took over looking after me when my dad died, but I've still mostly been on my own, Tabitha. I make my own decisions now."

"Tabitha?" Ember questions, stepping forward as her brows rise with her piqued interest. "Tabitha who?"

She pauses, but figures Shawn will probably tell his new _girlfriend_ her real name anyway. "Winchester."

Ember snorts in disbelief. "And you think _I'm_ dangerous. I may have a few demons after me, but from what I hear, you and your brothers have them _all_ after you three." She paces nervously around the room, stalking to look out through the peephole of the door as she demands, "Are you sure you weren't followed here? Because from what I hear, trouble always tails a Winchester."

"We're not that bad," Tabitha half-heartedly defends.

"Right," Ember snorts again. "'Cause I'm sure all those demons just want to find you so they can catch up about the good ol' days. And tell me, has anyone survived knowing you three? Death allows seems to trail a Winchester. Even Bobby has his wounds from what I hear."

"We all do!" she snaps, visions of Pamela, Ellen, Jo, Casey, and countless others flashing through her mind. "What the hell do you see in her?" Tabitha demands then from Shawn, refusing to dwell on those lost or the one who _might_ be lost.

Not waiting for an answer, she asks the girl, "Just what the hell kind of parents name their kid 'Ember?' Did they seriously want every guy in the world using lewd come-ons with you and making crude jokes?"

With a challenging look in her eyes, the girl crudely says, "Like what? The harder you blow on Ember the brighter she burns?"

"Christ," Tabitha mutters under her breath. "Tell me that Ember isn't your real name and you just made the idiotic decision to choose it."

"My name is none of your business," the girl snaps, all but confirming it isn't.

Lowering her hand from her forehead, Tabitha questions, "What are you even doing hunting? You're barely out of diapers. What, like fifteen? Sixteen?"

"I'm twenty," the girl sullenly maintains.

Seeming to feel the need to smooth matters, Shawn points out, "She's eighteen, Tabitha. But she's been on her own since she was fourteen and her parents got killed by a demon."

It does nothing to smooth things over with Ember, who turns to stalk back to the corner, long copper hair whipping behind her.

Tabitha tracks the girl, asking her, "How'd you learn all of this if you've been on your own since then? Who taught you?"

"My dad," the girl defiantly fires back, her chin jutting out. "Before a demon ripped his heart out and then my mother's. The demon followed him home from a hunt."

Softening with the sympathy she can feel for the girl, knowing what it's like to be raised by a hunter, and to lose a father that way, she asks, "What happened to the demon?"

A brief look of fear and horror fills Ember's eyes before she thrusts her chin out again, telling Tabitha in an emotionless voice, "I got to Daddy's shotgun and blasted it with rock salt. Then I exorcised it and sent it back to Hell. But not before it promised to claw its way back here again and find me, too." The terror briefly flashes in her eyes before anger replaces it. Eyes focused on Tabitha she spits, "And that seems likely to happen sooner rather than later. Demons been running around in droves lately. And word is that you Winchesters are always at the center of things. Probably responsible for the world turning to shit, too."

Since she can't deny it, Tabitha sighs and turns back to Shawn, "Look, you're right. You're a grown man now. Mostly. And you can make your own decisions. Sorta. No matter how dumb I think they are and how dangerous it is dating a hunter." The last part is muttered under her breath, annoyed by the irony of giving him the same speech about not dating a hunter that her own older brother had given her.

It hadn't stopped her and Cort from dating years back, and she's resigned to the knowledge that her words will probably have the same effect on Shawn that Dean's had on her.

"Like I was trying to tell you earlier, I need your help, Shawn. And I wouldn't have come if it weren't serious. I'm talking life and death here, kid. I really need your expertise."

"With what?" he curiously asks, lowering himself once more into the leather chair beside her.

"I need you to find someone." Her hand slips into the pocket of her leather coat, brushing against the blue tie balled up within.

His brows lift in surprise. "I thought that was _your_ area of expertise."

With hurried movements to keep herself from stroking the cheap cotton tie, she tugs her jacket off, laying it over the arm of her commandeered chair. Reluctantly, she admits to Shawn, "I don't quite have the resources anymore that I once did. And I need some big guns for this."

His features smooth out in understanding. "Oh," he murmurs, nodding to himself in understanding. "You want access to the databases and search parameters in Quantico."

Slouching further in her chair, elbows bracing on the arm rests as she swings her booted heels up onto the edge of the desk beside her, she reminds him, "Well, I didn't go to all the trouble and risk of sneaking you into Quantico to hack the servers there just to let it go to waste when I need it most. I knew the day might come when I needed a backdoor access to the FBI systems. And that day has come, kid."

There's an eager glint in Shawn's eyes as he twists towards the computer in front of him, sliding the keyboard closer. His eagerness is strong enough that he barely passes a cursory glare at her boots on his desk.

"So who is it you're looking for that you're willing to use your emergency backdoor?" he asks as his fingers clack out keystrokes. "You know that I can only risk doing this a few times before someone there catches on to my hidden access and tries to trace me." He tosses her a curious look. "Must be someone important that you're looking for if you're asking me to do this." Under his breath he tacks on, "Or a real badie."

Aware that Ember is slinking closer with an obvious interest at their discussion, Tabitha evasively tells Shawn, "Doesn't matter who it is. Just need to find him." Despite having removed the temptation of his tie, her eyes catch on the charms of her bracelet lying across the faded and torn denim of her thigh. The angel wing charm glints mockingly in the stark office lighting of Shawn's apartment. Now a permanent part of her. But is it destined to be a permanent reminder of the angel that sacrificed his Grace trying to protect her in his own odd fashion?

Shawn's busy clacking draws her attention from the charm. As she watches, the familiar sight of the Quantico database fills one Shawn's screens, and before she can blink, he bypasses the login screen.

Grinning and slipping her boots from the desk, she leans forward to grip Shawn's shoulder. "You did it, kid," she breathes in relief, glad to see the fruition of the kid's assurances and promises from when she'd made her gamble and snuck him into Quantico.

He shoots her a truly annoyed look. "You say that like you're surprised," he huffs. Proudly puffing out his chest, he tells her, "This was some of my best work. The shifting algorithm took months to write, but it was flawless for integrating with—"

Squeezing his shoulder to silence him, she scolds, "Don't ruin it for both of us by spilling your secret ingredients. Hmm?"

She can pull a few impressive tricks with a computer herself, but she's well aware that she's a rank amateur compared to what the kid is capable of. But she has no desire to delve into the depths of techno geekhood that the kid has achieved. She'd rather let him be the master of that realm.

He stretches his arms in front of himself and then crosses them, sullenly admonishing, "I just want you to understand what kind of glory you should be basking in."

She cracks a small, sarcastic grin. "Consider me basking in all of your magnanimous glory."

Nudging her chin towards the screen, she reminds him, "But I still need you to find someone."

Cracking his knuckles, he asks, "So, you got a name or anything to go on?"

Before she can open her mouth, Ember elbows her way between them, turning to Shawn as she incredulously gapes, "This is the FBI database. Like…everything. Their private network. You can access everything from here."

Raising a brow at her eager and envious gushing, Tabitha drolly comments, "Well, you can access everything the FBI has access to. Not _everything_."

"That's damn near everything," Ember scoffs. Eyes narrowed, the girl demands, "How'd you get Shawn into the Quantico servers? 'Cause a hack like that could have only been done onsite. And that place would have been crazy sick with stupid Feds."

Surprised at the girl's imperious tone, Tabitha nevertheless flatly answers, "Wasn't that hard for me. I used to _be_ a Fed."

"You're a cop?!"

Wincing at the shrill tones, Tabitha pointedly replies. "Fed. Not cop. There's a difference. And did you not catch the 'used to be' part?"

"I can't believe you would actually join those idiot Feds," Ember mumbles under her breath, turning back to stare enviously at the Quantico database screen. Tabitha's not surprised the girl harbors the same dour feelings and opinion of law enforcement that most hunters do. She'd certainly caught enough flak for it when she'd been in the FBI. And no small amount since she…retired.

To Shawn, the redhead asks, "Why didn't you tell me you hacked the FBI? Do you know what we can do with this access?"

Loudly clearing her throat, Tabitha interrupts, "Yeah, sorry Little Orphan Annie. This is only for grownups. And it's too valuable to risk overusing and letting them catch on. You're not allowed to play with it like a cool new toy."

Bristling at the barbs, Ember glares at her before stomping away again, muttering colorful curses under her breath.

Looking torn between the two women, Shawn sighs before turning back to his keyboard. With a slight frown, he admonishes, "Not nice, Tab."

Rolling her eyes, Tabitha sighs. "Whatever. I just want it made clear that your little _girlfriend_ doesn't get to play with this access. You're not supposed to either unless we both agree to it."

Noticing her slightly curious gaze, Shawn quietly assures her, "I haven't used it. I promise. Haven't needed to."

Jerking a nod, Tabitha reminds him, "Alright. Back to business."

"Right. Who am I searching for now?"

She starts to say Cas, but sighs, remembering her argument with Dean before she'd taken off to find Shawn.

It had been another doozy of an argument between them. She'd been unwilling to accept that her angel might be dead, despite her older brother's insistence that she should at least be prepared for the possibility. He kept saying that she had no proof that he really _was_ alive. And he was right. All she really had was a deep-seated need for it to be true.

Despite her insistence that it would take a lot to kill the angel, they still hadn't seen or heard from him. And while Castiel had certainly talked as if it might be his final act, she refused to believe it. Because he'd certainly come out alive all the other times he'd talked that way.

Remembering when he'd taken them to the past and then passed out for days, Tabitha clings to the feeble hope that he's once more incapacitated and just needs a bit of time to heal and a little help to get back on his feet.

But if he _is_ unconscious, no one will know him as Castiel.

"Search for Jimmy Novak of Pontiac, Illinois."

"Where am I looking?"

"He could be anywhere in the world," she sighs, thinking he could truly be anywhere in the universe, but Jupiter is a bit out of her reach.

Rolling his eyes, Shawn points out, "Quantico only covers the US."

"Then search the whole country. I've got an Interpol contact I can branch out to if we find nothing here."

Shawn's fingers begin their magic, and they both unconsciously lean towards the monitors as they await the results.

"Nope," he sighs, leaning back from his keyboard. "No hits. Just a missing person report from more than a year ago. Nothing about him being found or anything since."

To herself, she nods once, as if dismissing a possibility from her list. Somehow, she's not surprised not to find him under Jimmy's name. She's not even certain if he carries Jimmy's wallet with him. And all the times she had undressed the angel, she'd been too intent on other things to notice if he carried a photo ID.

Following a suffering sigh, she says, "All right. We're gonna have to do this the long way. Search all the centralized databases the FBI has access to for an unidentified white male between 35 and 45. Five-ten to six foot, and 155 to 175 pounds. Brown hair." Closing her eyes, she continues. "Search all police records for current unidentified persons, all hospital records…" Almost wanting to bite her tongue, she tacks on in a whisper, "And all morgue records."

She can sense Shawn whip to stare at her.

"Morgue?" he repeats in shock. "I thought this was someone supper important if you were risking this kinda access to find him."

"He is to me," she whispers. Opening her eyes to pin the kid with a withering stare, she adds, "I need to know where he is. If he's alive or not. He can help if he is." She gestures vaguely to the world around them. "With all this."

Shawn takes the hint and silently follows her bidding. In a subdued tone he explains, "It'll take a few minutes to tabulate all the possibilities, but it's gonna take even longer to go through them to find anything. Do you have any idea how many hits we're gonna get searching the whole damn country? Can't you narrow the area down somehow? To a region or state."

"No. I can't," she snaps. Then more soothingly adds, "And yes, I'm aware of how many hits this will yield. I've done this before, kid. Twenty three hundred people are reported missing every day. But fewer are found as unidentified persons."

The computer suddenly beeps. As Shawn leans forward to peer at the screen, he sighs while relaying, "674 possible hits." Under his breath, he mutters, "This is going to take forever."

She claps a hand against his shoulder. "That's not so bad for the entire country. With those broad search perimeters, I was afraid it would be a lot more." Thinking back to her days with the violent crimes unit, she tries to recall all the ways the team would get their analyst to narrow down search results.

"Okay. Let's see how we can filter some of these out. Narrow the results to just those that have popped up in the last few days. That should filter out those unidentified persons that have been that way for a long time."

Another beep signals their results. "Still 104," Shawn sighs.

Frowning, Tabitha muses, "That's actually higher than I anticipated in a few days' time." But she chalks it up to all the hell raining down from the Apocalypse.

"All right," she continues, returning to business. "Start bringing up any of the search results that have corresponding picture files attached that they're using to help identify these guys. We'll start with those."

"There are only 62 with files attached," he morosely replies, bringing up the first grainy, poorly lit hospital photo of an unconscious man.

"Not him," she dismisses, motioning for him to bring up the next photo.

Only a few photos in, her phone rings. Not even looking at it, she sharply answers, "What, Dean? I'm busy."

" _Wow,_ " Sam's voice grumbles in her ear. " _You and Dean are so much fun when you're fighting with each other._ "

Properly chagrined, Tabitha leans back from the computer screen. "Sorry, Sam. I thought it was Dean calling to see if I'd failed yet."

" _No matter how that argument went, we're both hoping you find Cas, Tab. We could use his help._ "

"I know," she demurs, tiredly massaging the bridge of her nose.

" _But you haven't found anything,_ " he more or less states.

"Not yet. We just started. What about you guys?" she asks, changing the subject. "Any luck on your front?"

" _I'm not even sure what we're searching for anymore,_ " he confesses. " _Other than a Hail-Mary to find another angel and possibly still save Adam._ "

"And if we find Cas he might be able to help with that," she defends.

" _I know._ "

She silently motions for Shawn to pull up the next result. Refusing to give up hope yet.

"So where are you knuckleheads at anyway?"

" _I'm not even sure,_ " Sam sighs. " _Some little deserted stretch of I-90 in Wyoming. Where strangely enough we were able to get out of a torrential downpour and into a five-star hotel._ "

Frowning, she tells him, "Wyoming doesn't have any five-star hotels. Not along that stretch of 90 anyway."

She can almost see him shrug. " _Well, it's here. Elysian Fields. They've supposedly got the best pie in the Tri-state area. So you know Dean isn't leaving 'till he's gorged on the buffet._ "

"You know," she sighs, "some day some monster's going to realize that's the perfect way to trap him. That or a hot woman, anyway. But they're gonna realize that and set a trap he won't be able to resist."

" _Probably,_ " he laughs, and then lets out an extended sigh. " _Look, I gotta go, Tab. He's waving for me to join him at the buffet. I just wanted to check in with you._ "

"Thanks, Sammy. Just, keep an eye on him," she warns. "Despite Zachariah finally being dead—which I'm still rejoicing Dean sticking a blade through his skull, just wish I'd been the one to get that pleasure. I'm also pleased about Dean claiming to be back in the fight, but I'm still worried he might flip the switch and throw in with those dickwads again. We have to be cautious."

" _I'll keep an eye on him,_ " Sam promises.

"Two," she warns, before pocketing her phone.

Returning her full attention to the screen, she distractedly tells Shawn, "Remind me to check into the Elysian Hotel along I-90 in Wyoming when we get a chance."

"Sure," he absentmindedly agrees, pointing to the next picture. "What about this one?" he asks, nodding at the autopsy picture from a brightly lit morgue filling the screen.

She leans closer, blowing out her nose in relief as she shakes her head. "Not him. Next."

* * *

Three hours later finds them having exhausted the possible matches that include photos in the files.

"Now what?" Shawn dejectedly asks.

Digging out her cellphone again, she replies, "Now it's old fashioned detective work. Or rather the FBI agent lording over LEOs and making them get me the info I want."

At Shawn's curious look, she explains, "A lot of these hits that don't have jack-squat for info to go with them are from small sheriff's departments without the resources to keep their files fully up to date. Or from huge departments that just can't be bothered to keep them up to date to help other departments."

Dialing the number of the police department listed on the next hit, she slips into retired but not forgotten role of Special Agent Winchester.

"I'm looking for Detective Winters…Who's calling?…You let him know that Special Agent Susan Weaver from the San Diego field office is calling about that John Doe of his that you guys haven't identified yet in the hospital…Well, you can tell him to do his damn job and get his files updated on the federal database… No, they're not up to date, and I'm looking for a match to the Tenth Street Strangler case we've got…Yeah, he's a serial killer in the area. Already got 17 on his body count, but we're trying to keep it quiet. You understand…Yeah, your John Doe matches a possible suspect in the case but I need a photo for a witness ID… Sure you can email it." Tabitha snaps her fingers at Shawn who scrambles to write an email address down and then feverishly works on his computer to create the official looking email account he's named for her.

When she hangs up and turns to him to look for the incoming email, she finds him staring curiously at her.

"Serial killer?" he suspiciously asks. "Please tell me this guy ain't really that kind of baddie."

She snorts ineloquently. "He's not. Trust me. But throwing around crap about serial killers always gets people's attention and their willingness to cooperate. Everyone dumb LEO thinks they'll be the ones to break some big serial killer case and get famous for it."

"Here it is," Shawn says after a few clicks of his mouse, bringing up the new picture.

"Not him," Tabitha sighs. "41 more to go."

"This is going to take all night," Shawn laments.

Forgotten in the corner of the apartment, Ember huffs in exasperation. "Well, fun as this has been, I'm calling it a night."

"Good," Tabitha dismissively grumbles. "Past your bedtime anyway, Pippi Longstocking. Only the grownups should be up this late."

"Screw you, bitch!"

Shawn groans at their less than veiled hatred of each other. "Can't you at least _try_ to get along with her, Tab? She's my girlfriend. Maybe just call her by her name, you know, Ember."

"Don't pin this on me," Tabitha defensively responds, crossing her arms over her chest. "She's the one that attacked me and pointed a shotgun in my face."

"She's my girlfriend. Besides, she thought you were a demon," Shawn repeats. Growing even more serious, he struggles saying, "And…and I think I—"

Tabitha cuts him off there, sure she knows _exactly_ what he's going to say. "Don't even say it, kid. You're too young to even _think_ about things like that. And she's _definitely_ too young."

Quietly, Shawn insists anyway, "I like her, Tabitha. I want you guys to get along. Please don't make me choose."

Remembering the heated lectures and arguments from her youth when Dean had desperately tried to warn her away from ever dating a hunter—and how successful _that_ had been—Tabitha attempts to force herself to let up. After a string of smothered curses, she puts on a false smile and calls out, "'Night Ember! Sleep tight!"

After a far more colorful return from the bedroom, Tabitha pointedly throws her arm in that direction, silently pointing out the futility of making nice.

Shawn chuckles mirthlessly and returns to their project, telling her, "Well, you were going a bit overboard with the names there, Tab. 'Little Orphan Annie'? That one was low. And surprisingly mean."

Feeling slightly chastised at his reminder, she shrugs and mutters an apology, adding one last time, "I still think you should find yourself a nice normal girl."

Hearing the memory of almost the same word for word advice from Dean in her mind, she cringes to herself. Since when had that advice ever worked out for _her_?

* * *

Tabitha glances at the time on her phone as she answers Sam's call. "You boys are sure up early. Which is shocking. You guys never drag yourselves out of bed before 10 in the morning if I'm not around to kick your asses out from under the covers."

She can hear her younger brother swallow thickly on the other end of the line, and she quickly wipes the exhaustion from her eyes. Thirteen straight hours of no sleep while searching all night for Castiel and making call after call demanding various police departments, hospitals, and morgues send her pictures of their John Does had begun to wear on her, but every tired ache flees in the wake of the quiet clearing of his throat.

" _We thought you should know he's dead, Tab._ "

The hand holding her cellphone falls uselessly to her side as she collapses back into her chair, staring blankly at the image downloading onto Shawn's monitors. It was one of the last possibilities they were getting. An image coming from the Philadelphia morgue. Her eyes blur as she sees Castiel's lifeless image fill the screen.

And suddenly, her every fear and dread hits her as she presses a hand to her mouth, unsure if she's trying to hold back the bile trying to rise in her throat, or the scream building in her soul.

Aware that Sam is shouting her name, she mechanically brings the phone back to her ear, bracing herself to hear how they found the angel and how he'd died.

" _Jesus! Are you still there, Tab?! Answer me!_ "

"Yeah," she croaks, unable to force more than the broken syllable past her lips.

" _Are you okay, sis? I didn't think you were_ that _close with Gabriel. We just thought you should know right away,_ " Sam continues.

Her sluggish mind finally catches up. "Wait. What?!" she demands. "Did you say _Gabriel_?!"

" _Yeah. I guess that motel last night was actually a trap laid by a bunch of pagan gods hoping to use us to stop Lucifer. Then Gabriel showed up trying to talk them out of it. And then Lucifer himself got there and slaughtered them all. He killed Gabriel, too. Only Kali got away with us_."

Furiously dashing the tears from her eyes away, Tabitha springs to her feet and yanks Shawn's monitor closer, staring at the image on the screen.

"It's not Cas," she sighs in relief.

" _What's not Cas?_ " she hears in stereo from Shawn and Sam. Shawn follows up with, "Who's Cas?"

"Never mind," she dismisses them both, still clinging to the hope that until she has proof otherwise, that _her_ angel is still alive.

Then, everything else her brother had said _really_ begins to sink in. "Wait. Gabriel's dead? Pagan gods? _Lucifer_?" She shakes her head, feeling her exhaustion return with a vengeance. Along with a stabbing guilt at the elation she'd felt to know that it was Gabriel who died and not Castiel.

"'Lucifer?'" Ember repeats as she pads out from the bedroom. "Everyone knows that's just a myth from demon Sunday School."

Waving an aggravated hand in the girl's direction, Tabitha listens to her brother's retelling of their night.

"Holy shit," she breathes when he finishes. "I knew angels could be killed," she darkly wonders—she'd killed a few herself. "But somehow Gabriel just seemed…unkillable. You two certainly never could."

" _I know_ ," Sam sighs, ignoring her unintended slight to them. " _It really surprised us, too. Him throwing in with us against his own brother. Guess it didn't do him any good though._ "

"Kali's still alive?" she hesitantly asks her brother.

" _Yeah. Why?_ "

_Then he accomplished what he set out to_ , she thinks to herself.

Her thought is banished when Sam clears his throat again.

" _There's another reason I called,_ " he informs her. " _You see, Gabriel really did decide to help us out in the end. I think. Anyway, he left us this…ah, well, DVD. But when we try to play it, his voice plays over the main menu, demanding that you be here before it'll play. The damn thing keeps saying it won't play without the…ah, presence of the, um, 'smokin' hot' Winchester. And despite Dean's insistences that it's him, the damn thing just won't play._ "

Shaking her head in confusion, Tabitha asks in aggravation, "Well, what do you expect me to do about that? You're still in Wyoming, right? And I'm in Denver. We're a few hours away from each other. Either head this way, or wait for me to finish my current project and then I can catch up with you guys."

" _This is important, Tab. I think he could be trying to help us stop the Devil._ "

"Finding Cas is important, too, Sam!" she snaps. "He could help us stop the Devil, just as well. And he sacrificed himself helping us try and fail to get Adam back."

Soothingly, Sam replies, " _You're right, Tab. I didn't mean we should stop looking for Cas. Just…what if I rip the video file from the DVD and then email it to you? Maybe it'll play for you then. And we can figure out what Gabriel's message to us was._ "

"Fine," she answers shortly, feeling the stab of guilt twist in her gut. Somehow, it seems very like the trickster in Gabriel to have left a message behind in the event of his death, but she's a bit uneasy about him demanding she be present for it to play. His offer to run away with him rings in her mind. She might have saved herself a lot of heartache if she'd yielded to his more than tempting offer. And perhaps even his life.

"You guys are crazy," Ember huffs. "Angels and the Devil don't exist. This is all just ridiculous talk."

Tabitha closes her phone, waiting for her brother to send the file as she turns to appraise the girl behind her.

Her brows climb at the sight of the girl glad only in lacy black underwear and a short, black spaghetti-strap tank top paying homage to the band H.I.M.

"You want to put some clothes on there…" she catches herself with a sidelong glance to Shawn, barely able to bite out with a smile, "Ember. I'm sure Shawn appreciates your fresh from bed look, but it's not to my taste."

"Bite me, skank," she growls, walking closer despite her scowl. And completely uninhibited about her state of relative undress. "Now, why are you talking about that kind of nonsense?" With a look of superiority, she tells Shawn, "Don't listen to what she said. There's no such thing as angels, and certainly no Devil."

Tabitha rolls her eyes at the girl. "Right, Daphne. And no such things as monsters. It's always just some loser in a mask complaining about how he would have gotten away with it if not for you pesky kids," she huffs, going to her forgotten pile of bags by the door that she'd brought in during the night and digging out her laptop. "Why don't you and the gang just head on back to the Mystery Machine."

She hands the laptop to Shawn, telling him, "Download the file from my email on here. And then you can hook it up with your stuff and share whatever is going to play with my brother's laptop through my Skype account, can't you?"

"Sure," he nods, apprehensively looking between the two women as he takes the laptop. "Piece of cake," he mumbles, turning to his scattered equipment on the desk, seeming to decide it was safer to focus on instead of the two glaring woman.

Freed of the laptop, she stalks closer to the younger woman, looking the redhead up and down. "Listen. Ember. Just because you've exorcised a demon or two and put a ghost to rest doesn't mean you know everything that's out there. Trust me, I've seen more than you can possibly imagine. Including angels and yes, even the Devil himself. Who the hell do you think is the cause of all of this?" she demands, throwing a sweeping gesture in reference to the messed up state of the world around them. "It sure wasn't Santa Claus, sweetheart."

With a sneer, Ember demands, "If angels are real, and so is the Devil, why hasn't anyone seen them? And if the Devil's responsible for all of this, why aren't these supposed angels kicking his ass and putting the world back together?"

"Because angels aren't like little Precious Moments figurines. Most of them are dicks. And believe it or not, they let Lucifer out and started this whole mess to begin with."

"What?! That's ridiculous."

"Uh, guys," Shawn interrupts. "I've got everything ready. Just dialing your brother now and waiting for him to pick up. At least, I take it you wanted me to connect to Moose83? That was your only other contact besides my three accounts."

"Yeah, that's him," Tabitha confirms as the video chat screen fills one of Shawn's many monitors.

" _Hey, Tabby_ ," Dean greets in a slightly subdued manner. Both he and Sam are bent down towards their screen, and from the angle and the sky behind them, she imagines they have the laptop set on the hood of the Impala. " _You find anything on Cas yet?_ "

"No. Not yet. But there's still a couple of possibilities I haven't looked into yet," she sighs, returning to Shawn's desk and slumping down into the chair she'd spent most of the night in. In truth, she only has two John Does to look into. And her heart has been struggling to cling to the hope that he might still be one of the last two she has yet to look into.

" _He'll turn up_ ," Dean attempts to assure her.

She's surprised by his change in tune, and wonders if he's trying to cling to the same hope of finding their friend that she is. Perhaps seeing Gabriel die has made her brother realize how much he wants their friend to still be alive.

Dean coughs once before admitting, " _So, I guess it was a pretty damn good thing you weren't with us when Lucifer showed up. Having you around him is a bad idea. You made the right call in the end_."

She ignores both the way he makes it sound like she made a lucky call _and_ the way the mark on her chest seems to burn at the mention of its maker. Instead, she gives him a small smile.

Catching sight of the other two in the room, Dean jerks a silent, questioning nod at them.

In return, Tabitha indicates first next to her. "This is Shawn. Computer genius extraordinaire."

Dean nods again over her shoulder. " _Who's the fiery looking redhead?_ "

At Dean's leer, Tabitha tells him in annoyance, "Knock it off, Dean. She's like 12 years old. Just ignore Little Red Riding Hood back there. She's Shawn's, ah, new guide to the underworld." At Ember's loud protests and Shawn's loud huffing, she amends, "I mean, uh, girlfriend or something."

" _So_ ," Sam interrupts, obviously deciding he doesn't care whom the girl belongs to. " _You got that video file that I sent you?_ "

"Yeah," Tabitha confirms, leaning forward to click on the file Shawn had downloaded to the desktop of her laptop.

As the video fills her laptop screen, she looks to Shawn to confirm that her brothers can see it.

"Yeah," he nods. "They're seeing your screen, too."

Cheesy music plays over her speakers, along with a bright red screen proclaiming the legal age of all performers of the following film. As the screen fades to black, the words "Casa Erotica" fills her screen, and the cheesy music finally makes sense to her, even if the film doesn't.

"Ah, Sam," she hesitantly begins. "I think Dean's been downloading porn to your computer again and you sent that to me by mistake. Although I know he typically prefers Asian Busty Beauties."

Sam clears his throat. " _See, ah,_ that's _what Gabriel said he was leaving for us. But I was hoping there was something actually useful on it. And not just, ah, you know…porn._ "

Tabitha shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as she settles in to watch at least the beginning of a porno with her brothers, the kid that looks up to her like a sister, and his bitch girlfriend.

" _Dear Diary,_ " a strangely familiar and sultry voice says over the corny music. The black screen fades to the image of a woman on her stomach, her clear hooker heels swaying lazily in the air as the camera pans over her legs. " _Being a high-powered business president is super-fun but_ so _exhausting,_ " the voice continues as the camera pans across the black underwear-clad back and shoulders of the woman.

As the camera pans slowly up to the blond woman's face, she continues, " _Sometimes I just need to relax. I need…Casa Erotica._ "

"Wow," she hears Shawn mutter beside her, his voice dripping with a strange horror and appreciation all at once.

Simultaneously, her brother's ring out loud objections on their end of the screen.

" _Uh, don't need to see that,_ " Sam coughs.

" _What the hell?_!" Dean angrily exclaims.

For her part, Tabitha stares in shock at the screen, thinking to herself that while she doesn't look too bad, she'd never imagined seeing herself in the cheesy acting of a porno. Although, she's chagrined to realize that she does actually own that very bra and panty set. Just not the hooker heels.

On the screen, a knock bangs on the door as a man calls, " _Room service!_ "

Tabitha watches in a detached fascination as the image of herself on the porno looks up to eagerly call, " _Come in!_ "

On the video chat, Sam demands from Dean in a startled tone, " _Gabriel wanted you to guard_ this _with your life?_ "

Dean ignores Sam's demand, making one of his own to their sister. " _Is that what you and the bird-brain were doing back in TV Land?! Making a porno?!_ "

Snapping out of her stupor, Tabitha leans forward, moving automatically to cover the screen with her hands as she insists, "Of course not! _That's_ not me!"

" _Sure as hell looks like you!_ " Dean shouts back.

" _Wait, is that Gabriel?_ " Sam asks.

Realizing that covering the screen with her hands isn't keeping her brothers from seeing it, Tabitha pulls her hands away to see a mustache sporting Gabriel pouncing on the porno version of Tabitha as she giggles and wraps her arms around him.

"Okay, this is ridiculous," she fumes. "I'm a highly educated, professional woman. I would _never_ giggle like that. That's _so_ not me," she continues as Gabriel runs his hands up and down the scantily clad porno version of her.

Gabriel suddenly pulls back, turning to look directly at her as he cheekily tells her, " _No, but it_ could _have been you. If you hadn't turned me down._ "

Startled by the video answering her, she scrambles to stand. "What the hell?!" she shouts in surprise, watching as Porno-Tabitha stands behind Gabriel, wrapping her arms around him, rubbing against him and moaning enthusiastically.

" _Oh, gross. This is just sick and_ wrong _,_ " Dean gags.

Suddenly, two more identical Porno-Tabithas fill the screen, each vying for Gabriel's attention and rubbing themselves against him as they loudly moan and giggle.

Shooting her a grin, Gabriel turns back to the three woman, lightly scolding them, " _Now, girls, there's plenty of me to go around. No fighting_."

Tabitha darts forward, punching at the pause button on her laptop, trying and failing to make the video stop before things get worse. Her laptop is unresponsive however, the porno starring her and Gabriel rolling on into dangerous territory.

Stuttering, Dean demands, " _Is that… Are those… Does Gabriel have Tabby-bots?!_ "

As Gabriel's hands start moving up and down the women, going from R-rated territory to X-rated territory, Tabitha panics and yanks the cords from her laptop, snatching the computer and pressing the screen to her chest so that no one can see it since it won't stop playing.

A contented sigh sounds from the laptop. " _I always knew I'd get between your breasts sooner or later_."

Jaw dropping in horror, Tabitha whips the screen back to see Gabriel leering at her with a happy but suggestive smirk.

Slamming the lid closed on the laptop, she repeats to her brothers, "That is _so_ not me."

Her brothers seem torn between anger and horror at what they've seen. And she thinks to herself that they look worse than if they'd been facing down a pack of snarling werewolves or wendigos.

" _Come on, Tabitha_ ," Gabriel pleads from the closed laptop. " _Don't be that way. Come back. I miss the sight of your gorgeous face._ "

"Then turn your attention to my little clones," she hisses at the closed laptop sitting on Shawn's desk.

Shawn and Ember lean forward, staring in a strange wonderment at the laptop when it's silent for a minute.

"Is that…some kind of artificial intelligence?" Shawn asks in a startled sort of reverence for the technology.

Gabriel snorts inside the closed computer. " _Try Angel Intelligence. Who's the kid, babe? You moved on already? I figured once you go angel, there's no other angle._ "

Tabitha rolls her eyes at the cheesy pun. "Try Artificial Idiot," she replies in annoyance.

Finally, they hear Gabriel sigh theatrically.

" _Okay_ ," they hear him say. " _Come on girls. Time to clear out. I've got to talk to the real thing. And real is so much more…satisfying._ "

After another minute, and the sound of those horrid giggles fading away, Gabriel calls out, " _The coast is clear. You can come back to me, my luscious sweetness._ "

"Stop saying shit like that," she hisses again, cautiously opening her computer, and sighing in relief when she sees only the archangel. "I should kick your ass. Or kill you," she growls.

" _If you're watching this, then it's too late on that score, sweetcheeks. I'm already dead._ "

Seeing her unease, he shrugs and continues. " _Oh well. Anyway. You're probably all wondering what the hell's going on_."

" _Generally_ ," Dean answers, reminding Tabitha to reconnect her laptop so her brothers can see her screen again now that it's more…appropriate.

Gabriel dramatically pulls his mustache off. " _Well…like I said, if you're watching this…I'm dead._ "

As her brother's roll their eyes, Gabriel continues, " _Oh, please. Stop sobbing. It's embarrassing for all of us._ "

"You want to talk about embarrassing," she hisses at the angel. "Try watching some creep make out with clones of yourself."

" _Ooh,_ " Gabriel grins. " _Sounds kinky. I like it. And don't try to tell me that you mind the…winged variety in your bed._ "

She swallows nervously at his veiled reference, but he presses on before her brothers can catch the inference.

The angel backs up to and sits on a heart-shaped bed, telling them, " _Anyway, without me, you've got zero shot at killing Lucifer. And getting his mark off your fine ass, too, sister. Sorry,_ " he shrugs in apology. " _But…you can trap him. Won't remove his mark, but it'll keep him from being able to use you in any way, kitten._ "

"Don't call me 'kitten,'" she warns in annoyance.

" _So touchy,_ " Gabriel comments with an amused grin. "' _Don't call me kitten.' 'Don't make clones of me and then make a porno with them.' So many rules, Tabitha. Is that it? You're into having control and dominance. Ooh, I like the sound of that. Should I call you 'Mistress' while you spank me for my behavior?_ "

" _Gabriel!_ " she warns again, more heavily stressing his name.

" _All right,_ " he reluctantly sighs. " _Anyway. Like I said. You can trap him. The cage you sprung Lucifer from is still down there. And maybe—just maybe—you can shove his ass back in. Not that it'll be easy. You got to get the cage open, trick my bro back into it, and, uh—oh, yeah—avoid Michael and the God Squad. But hey, details, right?_ "

Gabriel leans closer to the screen. " _And here's the big secret Lucifer himself doesn't even know. But the key to the cage—it's out there. Actually, it's_ keys _—plural. Four keys. Well, four_ rings _. From the Horsemen. You get them all, you got the cage. Can't say I'm betting on you crazy kids, but hey, at least I've got the girls here to keep me company._ "

The three porn clones of Tabitha return, climbing onto the heart-shaped bed behind Gabriel, once more fondling and fawning over him.

" _Oh, and Dean…you were right. I_ was _afraid to stand up to my brother. Not anymore._ " Gabriel stands on the screen. " _So, this is me standing up,_ " he says as the Tabitha clones behind him giggle and stroke his shoulders. " _And this is me…lying down,_ " he continues as they hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

"Ew, ew," Tabitha groans as she yanks the cord from her laptop and then removes the battery to silence the unmistakable sounds coming from her computer.

" _That was wrong,_ " Sam groans from the video chat.

Tabitha shivers. "On so many levels," she agrees, feeling torn between horror, violated, and sadness that Gabriel is gone. And despite the past few minutes, she suddenly feels tears form in her eyes. Because if the archangel himself is dead, what chance does she stand of finding Castiel still alive?

She expects Dean to continue to blow a gasket at _Gabriel and Tabitha Make a Porno_ , but surprisingly, his face is thoughtful as he stares into the screen.

" _Horsemen, huh?_ " he carefully comments. " _Well, we got War's. We nicked Famine's. That's two rings down. Collect all four._ " he continues, pulling the two rings from his pocket as he contemplates them.

"Guess it's a good thing we didn't make that pit stop to Mt. Doom," Tabitha jokes, purposefully ignoring the rasp of her voice.

Her brothers look uneasy, as they always do at the first hint of female emotion.

" _Anyway,_ " Dean coughs. " _All we need is Pestilence and Death._ "

" _Oh, is that all,_ " Sam tiredly replies.

" _It's a plan,_ " Dean returns.

Tabitha sighs in resignation, admitting to herself that she can't come up with a better one.

Dean looks up into the screen again to regard the middle Winchester. " _I don't suppose you're ready to get back here and help us track down the last two rings, are you?_ "

She shakes her head. "I've still got a few things to look into. Cas is still out there somewhere."

Dean opens his mouth, but stops short of speaking when Sam pointedly elbows him.

Before their older brother can speak, Sam tells Tabitha, " _Just hurry as much as you can. We could really use Cas's help on this if we're going after the last two Horsemen. And we could use_ your _help even more, sis. Call us when you're ready to join back up._ "

"Thanks, Sammy," she tells him, offering a small smile at the way he still speaks with the assurance that she'll find the angel.

" _Whatever,_ " Dean dismisses. " _Just hurry your ass up. We've finally got a game plan here, and we need to get a jump on it._ "

He reaches out to shut the laptop on their end, disconnecting the video chat.

In the ensuing silence, Tabitha finally turns to see the staggering shock in Ember and Shawn's faces.

"Horsemen. Angels. Lucifer," he whispers. "It's all _real_?"

"It can't be," Ember tries to insist in another hushed whisper, seeming to be trying to convince herself. "It just…it can't be."

"Sorry, kids. But it's all real. Well, Bigfoot's still not," she jokes. "I think."

As Shawn sits in his chair staring at his rows of monitors and Ember remains standing, staring into space, Tabitha returns her attention to the parts of her laptop spread across the desk.

To herself, she says, "Guess I should see if I can get Gabriel's porno off my laptop now. I'm not sure if I'll need Geek Squad to disinfect it or a priest to exorcise it."

Just as she reaches for it, she hears, " _Good luck with that, sister._ "

Jerking her hand back, she exclaims, "Gabriel?!"

" _In the flesh. Well…figuratively. Technologically._ "

She cautiously approaches the laptop again, slowly lifting the lid and peeking in. When she sees the glow of the screen, she flips it open. With her hands on her hips, she demands, "How the hell are you doing this and what the hell is even going on?"

" _Relax, sweetcheeks. I'm just…taking up a new residence._ "

She eyes him, thankful at least that the…Tabby-bots, as Dean called them, are not in sight.

"How are you on my computer? I thought you were…"

" _Dead?_ " he finishes when she trails off. " _Oh, I am. Just not all of me. I made sure to leave enough of me behind to still be around a while._ "

"And you decided to leave a…piece of yourself on _my_ computer?" she incredulously demands.

Gabriel leans back on the heart shaped bed, pressing his shoulders into the pillows and striking a very porn-esque pose. " _You think I'd have rather hung out with Heckle and Jeckle? The view is_ much _better here._ "

Folding her arms imposingly over her chest, she fires back, "So what, I get to be the girl lucky enough to have the haunted computer?"

" _Haunted? Who said anything about haunted? You talk like it's a bad thing I'm here. You should see it for the convenience it is. I mean, I don't see little Cassie boy around. A woman has needs. And it's not cheating if it's virtual sex._ " He sits up, face suddenly lighting with excitement. " _Oh! Or do you guys have like an open relationship. 'Cause if so, hells yeah I want in._ "

"You're such a perv," she scolds fighting the little smile that tries to play across her lips at his antics.

Suddenly sobering, she carefully broaches, "Are you really Gabriel? Or just like, the memory of him?"

He looks at her almost suspiciously, but carefully answers, " _I'm still me, sugar-plum. And yes. I am really dead. This is…_ " He gestures around the computer screen. " _I guess you could call this just another trick of mine. My last 'up yours' to Lucy for killing me. 'Cause this way, he didn't get all of me_."

After a moment of considering her question, Tabitha finally asks, "Then, do you know if Cas is still alive?"

Gabriel sadly shakes his head. " _I don't know anything more than I did when I died. And at this point, I don't know anything more about Cassie boy's status than you do. Just because I've pulled a fancy trick and I'm speaking from the dead, doesn't mean I'm suddenly all-knowing or anything._ "

At some point, Shawn had shaken himself from his stupor induced by the series of crazy and unbelievable revelations the morning had brought him. Or perhaps he'd simply decided to focus on something he understood.

Following the lull in conversation between Tabitha and the presence of the dead angel on a computer that should not have been working, Shawn carefully catches Tabitha's attention. Pointing to one of the screens in front of him—and wearily eyeing the partially dismantled but still talking laptop in front of her—he says, "I got the last couple of emails in with the last few missing pictures. Any of these your guy?"

She slides her chair away from her Gabriel possessed laptop to view the pictures on Shawn's screen.

With a sigh of defeat, she says, "No. None of those are him."

"Then what are you going to do now?"

Tabitha pauses at the question, not sure herself what to do now. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how much of her hopes had been pinned on finding Cas using the FBI database. Was her brother right and she's on a futile mission trying to find a dead angel?

Her fingers curl around the cellphone still in her hand. She could call her brothers and tell them that she'll head their way to rejoin them and begin the search for the last two Horsemen. At least that would be making clear progress. It would be furthering their ultimate goal of defeating the Devil and saving the world.

But why does it feel like if she calls them she'll be completely giving up hope on Castiel?

A silent tear streaks down her cheek as she makes her decision.

With a forced smile that doesn't reach her eyes, she turns to tell Shawn, "Thank you for all your help, kid."

"You're leaving?" he guesses, seeming a bit withdrawn.

"Yeah," she affirms. "My brothers were right. I need to help them find these last two Horsemen. It might be the only shot this planet has." She just wonders if it'll be enough to make Azrael back down, too. After all, she wouldn't need to torch the universe if Lucifer is safely locked up, just like before. And if Lucifer _is_ locked up, the concern of his…mark on her might be moot.

For the first time in a long time, Tabitha begins to feel a glimmer of hope.

Until she remembers Castiel. Or the fact the she's royally screwed over anyway when she dies.

Shawn shakes his head in disbelief, and even Ember comes over to sit on the arm of Shawn's chair, seeming more subdued than when Tabitha had been threatening to kill her the day before.

"Going after Horsemen," Ember whispers. "Like _The_ Horsemen." She shakes her head. Although she doesn't say it, her look speaks loudly enough. It says that she thinks Tabitha is as good as dead.

Tabitha wipes away the stray tear, thinking to herself that Ember has _no_ idea just how right she is. And strangely, the whole thing somehow seems laughable. In a pants-pissingly-terrified kind of way.

After a moment's hesitation, Tabitha stands and tugs something out of her jean's pocket, grabbing Shawn's hand over Ember's still bare legs and closing his palm around it.

"A key?" he asks, startled, opening his palm to inspect the small gold item.

She jerks a nod. "Yup. And before too long you'll get directions from me on what it opens. Until then, keep it with you."

Shawn stands quickly. Nearly dumping a startled Ember onto the floor when he scrambles out of his chair.

"Wait a minute," he demands. "That sounds too much like a goodbye. Like a _final_ goodbye. Is that what this is? Are these Horsemen guys that dangerous?"

It's not just the Horsemen on Tabitha's mind as she shares a surprisingly understanding look with Ember. Despite their initial hatred for each other, there's an understanding that passes between the two hunters. Made even more evident as Ember quietly and surprisingly tactfully excuses herself to leave Shawn and Tabitha alone.

"The answer is both yes and no, kid," she finally sighs, trying not to feel like she's abandoning the boy. Whom she still must remind herself is now a man. "The Horsemen _are_ dangerous, but they're not the only danger I've got coming. Or even the worst."

"Lucifer," he guesses.

"Him, too," she nods. "And more. I'm just trying to make sure my ducks are in a row and everyone's taken care of. When the time comes, you'll get an email that's set to be delivered to you automatically if I don't reset it each week. When you get it, you'll know. And you'll be okay." She places her hands on his shoulders, and nods at the key in his hand. "It's to a locker in a bus station. Anything I can provide to help you in the future is in that locker."

"If."

"What?" she asks in confusion, brows creasing in confusion.

"You said, 'when the time comes.' You mean, 'if,' though, right?"

He seems so hopeful, but she can't let him count on an impossibility. "I'll fight like hell, kid, but the odds are almost nil in my favor. I'm just preparing for the likelihood."

Shawn suddenly hugs her, shocking her with the sudden affection, especially given how standoffish he'd been when she first showed up on his doorstep.

Something presses info her own hand, causing Tabitha to curiously pull back so she can look. A micro USB drive lays nestled in her palm.

"You're going to get through this," Shawn insists. "And go back to hunting just like before. Just like Ember and me. And I want you to have that. Keep it with you at all times but keep it hidden. If you ever get into trouble, it can be your Get Out of Jail Free card."

Shaking her head at his youthful insistence in having faith, Tabitha relents, "Okay, kid. Okay."

But as she gathers her things and turns to leave, Tabitha finds herself more afraid of walking out the door and giving up on Castiel than she is of facing the Horsemen and Lucifer together.

But how can she stay when there seems to be no hope left?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot shorter chapter than a lot of my previous ones, but I wanted to get something out to prove to you all that I have begun writing again. And this was kind of a transition chapter that was never intended to be very long anyway. Think of it as an interlude before the big push to the finale of part 2. 'Cause it's coming! I only have two more episodes to cover before the finale of season 5 and my second part. Then, on to the 3rd part!
> 
> Also, so so so so so sorry! Long time no write, huh? I can't believe it's been more than two months already! Wow!
> 
> Well, in the two months that went by, a lot happened for me. I was working for a family friend helping to manage one of her motels in a tourist town nearby. I'd never really done hospitality work before, but learned quickly. By my second day on the job she had me already training the new employees! Yikes! But I learned a lot and realized I thoroughly enjoyed the work. But wow, they say you never really know someone until you work for or with them. And jeez, this family friend of ours turned out to be a HUGE b*tch. I'm talking capital letters.
> 
> We'd never seen that side of her before, and I was completely blown away. It got so bad working for her, and I got so disgusted with the way she treats employees (especially my sweet housekeeping staff that I tried very hard to protect from her wrath so they wouldn't quit on me) that I ended up giving my 2 week notice and leaving that job. It got a few of my housekeepers through their work period and them back to college before I left at least. But that was about all the longer I could stand with her.
> 
> But the good news is, after I gave my notice, I decided to look around in the bigger town nearby for similar work, and applied to 3 of the nicer hotels that caught my eye, and I ended up with 4 job offers. Still not quite sure how that worked out, lol, but I ended up taking what I'm hoping will be the best offer. And I still have standing offers to take any of the others if it doesn't work out. So we'll see. Just started the new one.
> 
> I'm hoping to continue working now more like 4, or maybe even 5 days a week to keep a little more of my time free. (And yes, writing is on my agenda) I had been working 6 days a week this summer, and when you're working for a real witch, it really takes its toll being around someone like that for so many hours.
> 
> But I just thought I'd share a little bit of what I've been up to so you didn't think I'd just given up on this story. I'd just been so swamped with work and so mentally exhausted from dealing with someone like that day in and day out. I just had nothing left mentally to devote to writing. And since I gave my notice, I'm much happier! And not so exhausted now that it's over.
> 
> So, I just wanted to offer my profound thanks and gratitude to everyone for hanging with me and for continuing to read (and often reread) my story even when I was on a little hiatus. You all completely humble and amaze me with your kindness and thoughtful reviews. Thank you all a million.
> 
> Now, hopefully it won't be so long for the next installment!


	17. Chapter 17: Dum Spiro, Spero

**Chapter 17: Dum Spiro, Spero**

 

"So. You guys find out anything useful?"

Sam and Dean pull up short at their sister's voice. They'd been walking to the Impala from behind it, each tugging their ties off. Surprised to hear her voice, they step around to the front of the car, seeing her lounging on the hood, leaning back against the windshield as she stares up contemplating the vastness of the night sky.

"Not really," Dean casually answers, throwing her a pointed look.

When she ignores their older brother's less than veiled accusation, Sam steps forward to point out, "We didn't realize you were gonna catch up with us all ready, Tab. You never called."

She remains reclined on the hood of the Impala with her arms folded behind her head, enjoying the lingering heat from the engine beneath the hood, and the majesty of the stars above her. It makes her feel small…and somehow, like all their problems are also small and simple; insignificant even.

"Bobby told me where you boys were," she finally offers, her only explanation for her sudden reappearance.

One of her brothers grunts in response, and she hears the telltale shuffling of them shedding the suits of whatever costume they'd most recently donned. CDC, she thinks she remembers Bobby telling her. Not that it matters, since they don't seem to have found anything useful on tracking the next Horseman on their hit list.

After a few minutes, Dean moves to the driver's side of the car, tapping the roof and gruffly telling her, "Get in."

With a single nod, she slips from the hood, passing by her older brother to open the back door.

His hand closes over hers along the top edge of the window to stop her. "Good to have you back," he tells her, offering a forced, but apologetic smile. It's the closest he comes to offering actual sympathy for her failure to find Castiel, and he doesn't bother to ask if she found him. For which she's grateful. She'd rather focus on their remaining tasks to beat the Devil.

Proving that he's as quick as anyone, Sam catches the somber undercurrents and mercifully doesn't comment or ask about the missing angel either. Just softly welcomes her back.

Partway down the road, Sam finally breaks the silence of the car, calling Bobby from his cellphone and putting him on speaker for both of his siblings to hear.

" _Let me guess_ ," Bobby greets, " _another steamin'-hot pile of swine flu._ "

"Yep," Dean confirms in a clipped tone.

Sam puzzles, "Doesn't make any sense, Bobby. Pestilence touched down here. I'm sure of it."

"But why is he dealing them soft serve like swine flu when he's got the Croatoan virus up his sleeve?" Dean, too, marvels. "I-I-I don't get it."

"Maybe it's like War back in River Pass," Tabitha wonders from the back seat, sitting forward to lean over the back of the front seat between her brothers. "I mean, he didn't have to toy like that with some nothing little town. But he was having fun. Just...playing with them. Maybe that's what Pestilence is doing. Just...toying with us."

" _Doesn't matter what the sick son of a bitch is doing,_ " Bobby points out. " _What matters is this is the fourth town he's hit_ _—_ _that we_ know _of_ _—_ _and we're still eating his dust. Did you get_ anything _? We got even a snowball at probable next target?_ "

"Uh, no pattern we can see," Sam responds.

Sighing, Bobby answers, " _Okay. Hold on._ " They hear the squeaky sound of his wheelchair moving. " _Well, as far as I can tell, he's still heading east, so...head east, I guess._ "

"East?" all three siblings incredulously respond.

"This is west Nevada," Tabitha quickly points out. " _Everything_ is east of here."

" _Yeah, well, you better get to drivin'._ "

When Bobby hangs up, the three share exasperated looks, wondering what their next move is.

Tabitha remains scooted forward, her arms folded across the top of the front seat between her brothers, her chin resting on her folded arms as they all contemplate what their next move should be.

Suddenly, Tabitha feels an icy hand slide up the small of her back underneath her t-shirt.

Startled, she twists and throws herself to one side of the car, drawing her Glock as a voice says, "Say...I've got an idea."

All at once, she fires her gun, Dean slams on the brakes, and the car skids sideways as Sam scrambles over the back of the seat, Ruby's knife in his hand as he stabs at Crowley.

"Did you guys get him?" Dean demands, turning to see if the crossroads demon has been shot and skewered in the back seat.

"He's gone," Tabitha growls, pulling herself up from where she'd been thrown to the floor by Dean’s wild stop.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the window above her head makes her scramble even faster from the floor.

"Fancy a fag and a chat?" Crowley congenially offers from outside the car.

Throwing her door open, causing the demon to have to jump back quickly as she storms towards him, she decisively raises her gun again, training it on his chest.

With placating hands, he tries to calm her. "You're upset. We should discuss it."

"Upset?" she repeats in disbelief. "You had your hand up my damn shirt!"

"What?" Sam and Dean demand in startled surprise, advancing on the demon as well, but stopping when they draw even with Tabitha.

Before they can demand answers, Crowley continues, "It's not like I had my hand on your good bits. I was just trying to get your attention, luv. It was an honest mistake."

"'Honest mistake!'" Tabitha huffs.

Sam shakes his head, refocusing on the demon as he fumes, "You wanna talk? After what you did to us?"

"After what I—I didn't have my hand anywhere _near_ your shirt!"

"I'm talking about Carthage!" Sam snaps, all three Winchesters closing in on the demon in a semi-circle.

" _What!?_ " he shouts in disbelief. " _I_ gave _you_ the Colt!"

Tabitha and Dean maneuver to more fully encircle Crowley as Sam shouts back, "Yeah, and you knew it wouldn't work against the Devil!"

"I never!"

"You set us up. We lost people on that suicide run— _good_ people!"

Crowley shakes his head at Sam. "Who you take on the ride is your own business!"

With a placating hand towards all three Winchesters, Crowley continues in a desperately hopeful voice, "Look, everything is still the same. W-we're all still in this together."

"Sure we are," Sam growls, then lunges at the demon with Ruby's knife. But the knife whistles through the air as Crowley disappears and reappears behind Sam and next to Tabitha.

"Call your dog off—please," he begs her.

She raises the gun she had only slightly lowered, centering it on the demon's chest from only inches away as she warns him, "It ain't _him_ you should be worried about."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, like that little thing's gonna do squat to me, darling. Might as well tickle me with a feather."

"Maybe not," she agrees, pressing the end of the barrel flat to his chest as she leans towards him, pressing the gun bruisingly against his flesh. "But it'll sure make me feel all warm and tingly inside."

Dean pushes Sam back and then grabs Tabitha's arm, pulling her back on his other side as he threateningly tells the demon, "Give me one good reason."

"I can give you Pestilence," Crowley quickly supplies.

"What do you know about Pestilence?" Dean demands suspiciously, trying to hide his piqued interest.

"I know how to get him," Crowley smugly answers, seeing the glimmer of curiosity shinning in Dean’s eyes. Grinning at their silence, he continues, "That's got your interest, doesn't it?"

Sam scoffs at the demon, but does a double take when he glances back at Dean and sees his face. "Are you actually listening to this?"

"Sam—" Dean begins in a placating voice.

"Are you friggin' nuts?!" Sam shouts, furious at the notion of trusting the demon for help after their previous disastrous results.

"Shut up for a second, Sam!"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Tabitha shouts, annoyed by their childish bickering.

She reluctantly replaces her Glock, crossing her arms over her chest as she regards the demon. "Talk," she brusquely directs him. "Make me believe I shouldn't be peeling your skin from your flesh very slowly at this very moment."

Crowley gives her a contemplative look before explaining, "Look...I swear...I thought the Colt would work. It's an honest mistake."

"There's that honest mistake crap again," she growls, eyes narrowing threateningly on the demon. "Every fiber of your being is craven, devious, malicious, conniving, and bloodthirsty."

"You just named my five best qualities, luv," he wickedly grins.

Then, more seriously, he assures her, "But really, it's all part of the learning process. But nothing's changed. I still want the Devil dead." He pauses, thoughtfully reconsidering. "Well... _one_ thing's changed. Now the Devil _knows_ that I want him dead. Which, by the way, makes me the most buggered son in all of creation."

"Holy crap. We don't care," Dean dismisses, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," Tabitha sarcastically coos. "That's just tearing me up inside."

"They burnt down my house!" Crowley indignantly shouts in response to their disinterest. When the Winchesters remain unmoved, he furiously shouts, "They ate my tailor!"

Still, the Winchesters merely shrug.

"Two months under a rock, like a bloody salamander! Every demon on Hell and Earth's got his eyes out for me!" He slows his diatribe briefly to continue in a softer voice, "and yet...here I am...last place I should be—" His voice raises back to an angry pitch. "—in the road, talking to Tabitha, Sam, and Dean Winchester, under a friggin' spotlight!"

As he finishes, he jabs his hand in the direction of the streetlight. The light bursts into a mass of sparks before going dark.

Appeased by the darkness, Crowley sighs and says more pleadingly, "So come with me. Please."

When they still stare at him, Crowley presses, "Do you want the Horsemen rings or not?"

At their startled looks, he rolls his eyes, "Yes, I know all about that. Shall we?" He gestures towards the Impala.

After a shared look, both Dean and Tabitha nod in agreement.

"You can't be serious!" Sam argues with them, furious at them agreeing to listen to the demon.

Without a word, Dean starts towards the car, silently pointing at Crowley and then the car, indicating for the demon to get in the back seat.

When Sam starts after Dean to argue further, Tabitha grabs his arm.

"Let's at least hear the demon out, Sam," she warns him, heading for the car as well. Over her shoulder, she tosses, "We can still always kill him if we don't like what he's peddling."

 

*****************

 

Crowley leads them into an abandoned house. From the looks, it’s long since beginning to fall in on itself, and tagged with copious amounts of graffiti. Though, the demon seems to have added a great deal to it, drawing multiple warding spells and sigils all over, many of which Tabitha has never actually seen before, and reminds herself to study them sometime later.

"Here we are," the demon sighs woefully. "My life on the lam. How the mighty have fallen."

"You just keep breaking my heart," Tabitha snidely comments as she pushes past the demon, her nose wrinkling at the pungent smell wafting from the falling down structure.

Crowley rolls his eyes at her, continuing to stroll through the house as he points out all its many flaws. "Single-pane glass, used contraception in the fireplace." He pauses to gesture at said fireplace, and immediately a roaring fire springs to life.

"Not to mention the lovely smell of cat urine soaking most of the furniture," Tabitha groans under her breath, picking her way closer to the fire to warm her hands, hoping that the heat and smoke will ward off the smell clinging to the inside of her nose and lungs.

Crowley nods in agreement, then continues to gesture around the place, saying, "The water damage alone—"

"My heart's bleeding for you," Dean coldly interrupts. "Now, how do you know about the rings?"

"Well, now...I've been keeping a close eye on you lot," Crowley tells them.

Sam quickly points out, "We got hex bags. We're hidden from demons."

"All but one," Crowley proudly argues, holding a single finger up in the air, and then pointing at himself with a flourish. He goes on to explain, "That night you broke into my house—" he sidles closer to Tabitha, brushing his shoulder against hers as he tacks on in a low, seductive whisper near her ear, "—our first date—" He raises his voice to continue, "My valet hid a tracking device in your car—a magical coin that easily trumps your little bags o' bones. It allows me to hear things, too—" He shoots all three of them a coy smile and laugh as he adds, "And, my, the things I've heard." Sobering again, he goes on. "So you want to cram the Devil back in the box? Cunning scheme. I want in."

Suspiciously, Dean points out, "You said you could get us Pestilence."

Following a sharp inhale, Crowley admits, "Well, now...I don't know where Pestilence _is_...per se. But I do know the demon who _does_. He's what you might call the Horsemen's stable boy. He handles their itineraries, their personal needs. He's who you want—believe me. He'll tell us where Sneezy's at."

Still dubious, Dean asks, "Well, how do we get him to spill? Rip out his toenails?"

"No. Nuts at his pay grade don't crack," Crowley tells them, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress coat. "We bring him here, then I sell him."

"Sell him?" Sam repeats.

"Please. I've sold sin to saints for centuries," the demon smugly tells them. "Think I can't close one little demon?"

"All right," Dean says. "So, where's this demon of yours?"

Crowley grins. "Pharmaceutical company. Where else?"

Dean nods to himself, telling them all, "Fine. Let's mount up. Everyone check your gear and get what you need."

As Crowley meanders into another room of the house, Sam jumps at the opportunity to round in on their older brother. "Why are we even listening to him, Dean? This is totally insane."

"I don't disagree," Dean comments, loading fresh rounds into the clip of his Colt 1911.

Choosing that moment to interrupt, Crowley returns, clapping his hands as he announces, "One big happy family. Are we, then? Fantastic."

Ignoring the demon, Dean asks his siblings, "You ready to go?"

"Yes. Yes. I am," Crowley jumps to announce, earning a roll of her eyes from Tabitha, who shoves her freshly loaded Glock into her shoulder harness, and her Smith and Wesson at the small of her back.

Turning to Sam and Tabitha he comments, "Sam, Tabitha, keep the home fires burning."

"What are you talking about?" a startled Dean demands.

"They're not coming," the demon responds, gesturing at the bewildered pair.

Sam is quick to challenge, "And why the hell not?"

With another hand flourish at the furious youngest Winchester, Crowley tells him, "Because I don't like you..." He steps closer as his words become increasingly hostile. "I don't trust you...and—oh, yes—you keep trying to kill me."

Seeing Tabitha about to voice her own objection, Crowley turns to tell her, caressing her arm in a placating fashion, "You'd be better off letting the big boys handle this, luv."

"Touch me again, Crowley, and I'm gonna carve those fingers away. Inch by little inch," she promises him in a low, threatening growl, jerking her arm from beneath his touch.

"See!" he declares. "Bloody bad as the moose here. That's the _third_ time you've threatened to kill me. Just this evening. You need to relax, darling."

Taking a threatening step back towards him, she warns, "I'm only threatening to kill a filthy demon for laying his hooves on me. And I promise I'm gonna start carving _something_ off the next demon that thinks it’s okay to touch me."

Crowley gives her a strange, appraising look before turning back to Dean, telling him, "Nope. The chit's not coming, either."

"There's no damn way," Sam angrily breaks in. "This isn't gonna happen!"

"I'm not asking you, am I?" Crowley tells him. "'Cause you're not invited. Neither of you are." He turns to Dean. "I'm asking _you_. What's it gonna be?"

The younger siblings turn to look expectantly at their brother. When he doesn't respond, they turn triumphant smirks on the scoffing demon.

"Gentleman..." he scorns. "Chit... Enjoy your last few sunsets."

As he walks away, Dean softly calls out, "Wait."

When his siblings turn back to him in surprise, Dean looks down and tells the demon, "I'll go."

Head still down, he grabs his packed bag, bypassing Sam and Tabitha before he finally stops to tell them, "What can I say? I believe the guy."

Sam and Tabitha can only stare at each other in shock.

After the sounds of the Impala's squealing tires fade away, Sam stomps over to their supplies, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

"Really think that's the best solution?" she wryly observes, not actually moving to stop him.

"Why not?" he challenges. "Seems to work for you and Dean." He follows his grumbles with a large swallow of the amber liquid straight from the bottle. Followed by another even more generous helping. And then another.

When he holds the bottle out to her, she rolls her eyes and waves it off, wondering aloud, "There's gotta be something else more productive we can do. Even if we're here...riding the pine."

Sam snorts, sounding like the whiskey's already getting to him. "Can you believe he just took off like that? With a _demon_?"

"A brother of mine taking off with a demon? _Nooo_. I can't _possibly_ buy in to a Winchester doing something like _that_."

Sam winces and takes another swig, sullenly mumbling, "Point taken."

Softening, Tabitha tells her younger brother, "Every time we second guess each other, we just make things worse. Am I pissed that they left us behind? Of course I am. But come on, Sam. We need to start trusting each other's choices here a little bit. One of us might come up with something crazy...but hey, if it works?"

"Whatever," he grumbles into his bottle, plopping down on the couch nearest the fire. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Tabitha turns to stare into the fire, biting her lip at the question. She'd been trying to avoid thinking ahead since she decided to reunite with her brothers. She'd just been focusing on finding them. And then helping them with whatever they needed. Thinking about the future hadn't been part of her game plan.

The future isn't something she thinks she's even _prepared_ to consider just yet. Not when she doesn't have much of one herself. And not when even the possibility of one just seem so...empty.

"You never found anything on Cas?" Sam suddenly asks, oblivious to the hitch in her breath the question causes from her.

"No," she answers softly. Amazed that even the single syllable comes out unbroken.

"Well, where could he possibly be? I mean, you don't really think he's dead, do you?" Sam asks, his tact going out the window as he drains more of the whiskey.

"I looked all over the country, Sam," she snaps at her brother. "I couldn't find anything on him in the FBI database. Not alive. Not dead. And it's been over a week now."

"But he could be anywhere in the world," Sam blithely points out. "And just because he's not in the system doesn't mean anything. Lots of stuff doesn't end up going through official channels."

"I know," she softly grants, still staring down into the dancing yellow flames of the fire.

But his words do give her an idea.

When she pulls her cellphone from her pocket, Sam curiously asks, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for Cas," she replies. "You actually made a good point. He could still be anywhere in the world. And while I don't have contacts everywhere, I do know a guy with Interpol that might be able to help."

His brows shoot up in surprise. "You know someone in Interpol?"

"Yeah. FBI did a kind of exchange training program a few years back. We hosted some guys from Scotland Yard, and then me and few others got to spend a few months over there in England. I made...friends with a few of the...blokes over there. And Ian works for Interpol now. Last I knew, anyway."

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. "Yeah, but you're kinda forgetting something. Agent Winchester is dead. Remember?"

She shrugs. "I can work around that. If I'm lucky, he won't have heard the news over there. If he _has_ heard the news...I'll make something up. Say it's an elaborate cover I'm working or something. Don't worry, Ian'll help me out. And that'll at least narrow down where Cas might be or might _not_ be."

Her heart unclenches slightly, eased by the notion of having a plan of attack at last. And knowing that no matter how dim the hope seems to be getting, that she's still clinging to it by her fingertips. It's probably another Hail Mary, she knows, but if Ian can't turn up anything, she resolves to call to New Orleans after that. Perhaps the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans can shed some light on finding her angel.

"You seem pretty sure this guy will help you," Sam cautiously points out. "Just _how_ good a friend did you say he was?"

Tabitha smiles innocently, but her grin turns coy as she answers, "We were _very_ good friends. He helped me... _settle_ into my flat."

"I didn't need to hear that," Sam groans as he downs three large gulps without breaking for air.

Laughing for the first time in a while, Tabitha walks into the other room to place her call, thankful for the time difference.

 

********************

 

After her fruitless, but always flirtatious call with Ian, Tabitha wanders back into the main room of the house where Sam still waits. Even her call to New Orleans had been fruitless. She hadn't been able to reach anyone, only leave messages for both Cort and Etienne.

As she nears where Sam is, and she hears his voice, she slows to gauge whom he's talking to.

"And then Dean just walks..." She can hear him pausing to take another swallow of whiskey. "...right out the door with Crowley. Tabitha doesn't even seem concerned about it."

There's silence for a few moments, followed by Sam answering to someone, "Yeah, maybe." After a sigh, Sam continues, "Hey, Bobby? Uh...remember that time you were possessed?"

Tabitha shakes her head at the tactlessness of her drunken little brother, but eases closer to catch more of his conversation with Bobby, wondering where her little brother is going with it.

"When Meg told you to kill Dean, you didn't. You took your body back."

Tabitha pulls back slightly from the doorway as Sam stands, apparently listening to whatever Bobby's response is. Then, he asks the older hunter, "Well, how'd you do it? I mean, how'd you take back the wheel?"

As Sam paces closer to where she remains hidden, she can hear Bobby ask over the phone, " _Why are you asking, Sam_?"

Wondering the same herself, Tabitha holds her breath and waits.

"Say we can open the cage. Great. But then what? W-we just lead the Devil to the edge and get him to jump in?"

" _You got me_."

"What if _you_ guys lead the Devil to the edge and _I_ jump in?"

" _Sam,_ " Bobby warns lowly.

"It'd be just like when you turned the knife around on yourself," Sam rushes to point out, passionately and almost pleadingly saying, "One action—just one leap."

As Tabitha lets her head fall back against the wall she'd been creeping against, her eyes blurring with tears, she hears Bobby shout through the phone, " _Are you idjits trying to kill me?!_ "

"Bobby—"

" _We just got done talking your brother off the ledge and now_ you're _lining up to say 'Yes'? Is your sister the only sane one not rushing to sign her life away on some fool suicide mission?!_ "

"It's not like that," Sam argues. "I'm not gonna do it. Not unless we all agree. But I think we got to look at our options."

" _This isn't an option, Sam._ "

"Why not?"

" _You can't do it. What I did was a million-to-one, and that was some pissant demon I was brain-wrestling. You're talking about taking back control from Satan himself._ "

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

" _Kid...it's called 'possession' for a reason. You, of all people, ought to know._ "

"I'm strong enough," Sam stubbornly insists.

" _You ain't,_ " Bobby coldly informs him. " _He's gonna find every chink in your armor, Sam, and use it against you_ _—_ _your fear, your grief, your anger. And let's face it_ _—_ _you're not exactly Mr. Anger Management. How are you gonna control the Devil when you can't control_ yourself _?_ "

After a weighted silence, Tabitha hears Sam snap his phone shut, followed by the hollow thumps of his boots as he paces into what was once a kitchen.

When he passes her, he stops to turn towards her, his shoulders slumping down when he sees her.

"You heard?" he guesses in a subdued voice.

"Sam," she breathes, hearing the catch in her own voice. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"You did it," he suddenly points out.

"Did what?" she scoffs in confusion.

"The Devil had control of you. You took it back. And you're here now. Away from him."

"That was different," she points out, wrapping her arms around herself and unconsciously rubbing at the brand beneath the suddenly thin layers of her t-shirt and leather jacket.

"How?"

"Because it is!" she thunders, shoving away from the wall and stalking towards her brother, poking him in the chest as she snarls, "This is a stupid and reckless thing to even think about, Sam. You can't go off half-cocked like that and think you can take on the Devil himself. You're not doing it. Dean and I will come up with _something_... _anything_ else."

Voice barely above a whisper, and tears sparkling in his eyes, Sam points out, "I'm not a child anymore, Tabitha. I don't need your permission and I don't need you and Dean making my every decision for me."

"Apparently, you do," she snaps.

She spins away, unnerved at the thought of Lucifer getting his cloven hooves on her little brother, shuddering at the thought of Sam feeling even an ounce of what she felt when he branded her months before.

"I guess you didn't mean _me_ when you said that we need to start trusting each other. That we couldn't keep second-guessing each other all the time. I guess, like usual, that only applies to you and Dean. I just...don't count in this family."

Tabitha stiffens at his words, but when she turns around to address her brother, finds him gone.

 

********************

 

At the sound of the Impala pulling up, Tabitha rises from the makeshift pallet she'd laid out on the floor near the fireplace so she can stand to greet her older brother.

She hears him shuffling through the house and just catches sight of him shoving someone in front of him into another room as Crowley stands just inside the door, giving her a disapproving look.

Before she can tell the demon to stuff it, Sam hustles down the stairs, avoiding her eyes as he questions Crowley, "Where's Dean?"

Crowley turns from Tabitha and tosses her brother a look as well. "Now...for the record, I'm against this. Negotiating a high-level defection—it's very delicate business."

As Sam attempts to step past the demon, Crowley moves with him, stepping into his path to stop him.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demands.

"I begged Dean not to come back. We should be miles away...from _you_." He throws Tabitha another look. "And _you_ , too." He glances back and forth between them as he continues. "He replied with a colorful rejoinder about my 'corn chute.'"

After giving them another narrowed eyed look, Crowley reluctantly says, "So, go ahead. Go—ruin our last best hope."

As Sam steps past him, the demon locks eyes with Tabitha, adding, "It's only the end of the world."

Confused by the warning look he gives her, and far too curious about what's going on, she follows after her little brother. When they step into the next room, they see Dean securing a man with a burlap sack covering his head to a chair inside a Devil's Trap. Blood soaks the top of the bag.

When Dean spots his siblings, he finishes securing the bound demon, stepping towards them with a warning tone. "Sam. Tabitha."

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam wonders.

"I need the two of you to stay on mission, okay?" he directs them. "Focused."

"I don't understand. What's all this about?"

Tabitha folds her arms over her chest, waiting for Dean to answer their brother. He gives her another appraising look, and nods once before focusing again on Sam.

"I'm doing this 'cause I trust you," he tells their younger brother.

The demon in the chair seems to begin coming to a bit, moaning under the head bag.

"Trust me to what?" Sam asks in confusion.

"Sam?" comes a voice from under the burlap sack. Clearing his throat, the bound demon presses on, "Sam, is that you?"

Dean gives their brother one last look before stepping over and yanking the sack from the demon's head, causing Tabitha to curse under her breath and step backwards to the outside of the room.

"Brady?" Sam incredulously wonders.

Brady chuckles and informs them, "Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh... middle of our sophomore year?"

"What?"

"That's right. You had a Devil on your shoulder even back then."

As Sam struggles to contain and come to grips with the shocking news, the demon continues baiting him.

"All right, now, let it all sink in."

"You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch! You introduced me to Jess!"

As he advances furiously on the demon, Dean steps forward to push Sam back.

"Ding, ding! I think he's got it!" Brady mocks.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean growls, trying to hold onto Sam.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Sam promises over Dean's shoulder.

As Dean struggles to contain their brother, Brady lifts his head and sniffs delicately at the air, closing his eyes and seeming to savor it. "Well. Well. Well. I'd recognize that... _scent_ anywhere. Tabitha Winchester! What a delight!" he mocks, looking past the struggling brothers.

Both boys stop to look suspiciously at their sister where she stands at the edge of the room.

"You asshole," she exhales in quiet fury. The pain in her stomach feels almost like a physical blow, a kick to the gut, and she struggles not to double over to abate the painful sensation coursing through her. Shock and self-loathing fill her when she realizes she'd slept with not one, but _two_ demons in her past...and she hadn't realized it. Either time. Some hunter she'd really been. She hadn't even seen the evil in two men that she'd so intimately allowed into her bed.

Brady continues to mockingly grin, heedless of the blood still trickling from his mouth. "What?" he harshly taunts. "Finally realize that _I_ was the first demon to rock your world, not Casey."

"What?" Sam softly asks, face bright with shock.

"What?!" Dean more loudly demands.

Tabitha knows she can either fall apart or attack, and she knows she can't afford to fall apart again for fear that she'll never pick herself back up. So she takes a determined and threatening step towards the demon, stopping only when Dean grabs her arm to pull her back where he holds Sam. "I'm gonna peel that smile off your face, you smug bastard. And shove it slowly back down your throat!"

With a waggling brow, Brady jeers, "So, you _do_ remember how I like it...nice and _slow_."

"Tabitha!" Dean admonishingly growls when she starts forward again.

"What!" she snaps, but allows him to shove her and Sam out of the room.

Sam starts back into the room almost as soon as Dean has shoved them out, but is stopped short when Dean thrusts him back again.

"Hey! That's enough!" he shouts at their brother.

Sam rounds on Tabitha instead. "You slept with _Brady_?!"

Defensively, she snaps back, "What does it matter? That was years ago. When you were still in college."

Even more furious when she doesn't outright deny it, he yells, "When?! And why the hell were you sleeping with my friends?!"

Jabbing an emphatic finger in the direction of Brady, she shouts back, " _One_ friend. And only _once_. And we were...well, at least _I_ was drunk. It was that New Year’s I slipped away from the academy to come see you. I didn't mean to sleep with your friend and I certainly didn't know I was sleeping with a goddamned _demon_!"

"Shit!" she exclaims to herself in frustration, shoving her hair back from her face as she paces around the room, fuming to herself, "I swear to god, if I find out about any _other_ creatures I've shared a bed with... I swear I'm gonna start dousing my bed in Holy Water and circling it with Holy Fire, just so I know for sure what's in my bed!"

After her mutters sink in, Dean haltingly demands, "Wait. What?" He turns away from Sam to look skeptically at her. "I thought you said you _didn't_ sleep with Gabriel."

Chagrined at her slip, she winces and rushes to assure him, "I _didn't_ sleep with that angel. It was just an example."

Dean looks ready to start in on her, too, but stops when Sam tries to take the opportunity to dart past him for Brady.

"Get out of my way!" he shouts at Dean who scrambles to contain him.

"No."

"Get out of my way, Dean."

"There is only one way to win," Dean reminds him. "And it ain't by killing that thing in there."

Crowley chooses that moment to reappear. "Well...sounds like you got him nice and fluffed. Thanks so much." He steps around the brothers, passing Tabitha as he suggestively adds, "I hear you're...especially gifted at… _fluffing_ a demon."

Grabbing Crowley's arm, she growls at him, "Just get what we need from him. And keep your comments to yourself. Or I'll show you just how good I am at...defluffing demons, too."

Crowley looks down at the knife suddenly pressing against his stomach, a brow arching delicately at her threat. "Point...taken, luv," he tells her, slipping past and into the room with Brady.

"Listen to me," Dean tries to calmly tell their brother. "We need Pestilence to get at the Devil, and we need _Brady_ to get to Pestilence. So no matter how much we'd _both_ like to ventilate him—" he warns, throwing a censoring look at their sister, "—we can't touch him. Yet."

"Why?" Sam demands. "Because Crowley said so? Because we trust him now? Like I trusted Ruby? Or like I trusted Brady back at school?"

Dean doesn't answer, simply remains blocking his path.

After a silent stare-down, Sam finally turns to storm off, heading out into the stark dawn sunlight.

After watching their brother stalk off, Dean turns to confront Tabitha.

" _Really_?" he incredulously queries. "You slept with _Chuckles_ in there?!"

Her hand swings through the air in an exasperated fashion. "Don't even start with me," she scorns. "If you and I are going to start comparing each other's questionable one-night-stands, we're gonna be here all night. And I figure the whole End of the World thing outta take precedence for now."

After a fair amount of teeth grinding, Dean folds his arms over his chest and implores her, "Swear to me that you didn't really sleep with Gabriel, too."

Tabitha stiffens slightly, but raises her right hand to solemnly assure him, "Hand to God...I did _not_ sleep with...that angel."

"Fine. Good," he briskly agrees. Under his breath adding, "Fantastic, at least she hasn't been making time with the dick angels. Super duper."

"I heard that," she mutters, bending to grab a beer from the cooler by the coffee table and now makeshift work desk.

When he silently gestures for one as well, she tosses it over, moving to sit lightly on the edge of the couch as he plops down in the dusty easy chair, propping his boots up on the table.

Tabitha hears Crowley amble into the room behind her, and looks over her shoulder as he stops to appraise them.

"Well, how'd it go?" Dean asks the demon, drinking from his beer. "He buy your Girl Scout cookies?"

"Not yet," Crowley admits. He looks curiously around the room before asking, "Where's your moose?"

Dean glances around before telling the demon, "He's cooling off."

"All right, then. Get bent," Crowley suddenly tells them, turning to walk away.

"You headed somewhere?" Tabitha asks, sipping from her beer, all while still keeping a careful eye on the demon to watch for his...wandering hands.

Crowley gestures over his shoulder in the direction of Brady. "Well, he won't budge, so now I go stick my neck out."

Dean sits up to ask, "What are you gonna do?"

"Exactly the kind of desperate swashbuckle I've been trying to avoid."

"Yeah, avoiding it by having gullible us do it instead," Tabitha bitterly points out, pushing away the memory of those they lost the last time they trusted Crowley's plans.

"Quite," he agrees in a clipped tone. "Now I go kick open a hive of demons."

He starts to turn away from them, but stops, and turns back. "This whole bloody ring business better work."

The siblings roll their eyes at the demon, but when they turn back to look where he'd stood, find that he's disappeared.

 

************

 

"What are you doing, Sam?" Tabitha hesitantly questions, stopping halfway down the stairs. She'd been upstairs talking to Ian and confirming that he still hadn't found anything when she'd heard a commotion downstairs.

Sam looks up from where he'd shut Dean into the bathroom, locking their older brother in.

The door rattles and bangs against the chair Sam has shoved under the doorknob. Behind the door, she can clearly hear Dean shouting, "Sam, come on! Open the door!"

Shifting from foot to foot, Sam doesn't answer her, and he doesn't look up to meet her eyes.

Finally, he whispers, "I gotta do this, Tab."

"What? Lock Dean in the bathroom? I didn't realize his hygiene was getting that bad," she facetiously comments, trying in vain to make light of the strange circumstances.

His eyes track up to meet hers, not joining in on her joke. "You know what I mean," he gravely replies.

As he turns slightly to face her, she sees the glint of light catching on Ruby's knife in his hand.

Swallowing hard, she eases down two more steps before stopping and agreeing in solemn voice, "Yeah. I know what you mean. But, Sam...you can't do this."

After easing down another two steps, she stops to resume her argument. "I want him dead, too, Sammy. And not just 'cause I'm pissed to realize how stupidly blind I apparently am to the men in my..." she casts about for a more polite word than what had come to mind, "...life being possessed. I want him to burn for hurting you. For making you doubt yourself. For being part of the heartache of your past. I want him to fry for it, Sam. I want to carve away little pieces of him until there's nothing left to even scream in agony anymore for hurting you.

"But we _need_ him. We need to know what he knows. We can't... Unfortunately we can't save this world without him. And that has to mean something. We can't have made all the sacrifices we've made and _not_ reach the finish line. It all has to mean _something_. All the loss. All the death. Everyone we've lost and that's sacrificed themselves. That has to mean more than us wanting that piece of garbage in there to squirm on the rack. We can't do this, little brother."

She finally descends to the bottom of the staircase, standing in front of her brother and staring pleadingly up into his eyes. As she waits for him, he glances over her shoulder, seeming to note how she's placed herself strategically between him and the bound demon in the other room.

His gaze had been unfocused as he listened to her, but his eyes shift again, narrowing down on her as he counters, "I need answers, Tabitha. I need answers only _he_ can give me. However I need to get them."

"Sam—" she beings to reproach.

He cuts her off harshly. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" she replies, falling back a step in her surprise. "Of course I do."

"No," he argues. "Do you _really_ trust me? Because you've never really acted like it. Not you...and not Dean. Not like the two of you trust each other. Even when you're pissed and suspicious of each other...you _still_ somehow manage to trust each other. But not me. Neither of you really trusts me. I'm always just the screw-up kid brother. And I know, I get it. I am. You and Dean have always followed after me—my whole life—trying to watch over my shoulder and protect me. Even when I ran away and went to college...you went, too. You guys are always there trying to make all the decisions...keep me out of trouble. But just _once_ , I wish you'd take the leaps of faith for me that you take for Dean. Just once I wish you'd trust _me..._ even when I don't deserve it."

"Neither of us wants to see you get hurt any worse, Sam," she whispers. But she finally moves, stepping out of Sam's path, giving him silent approval for whatever his plan is. And giving him the trust he so desperately seems to need and thinks he doesn’t have from her.

When he steps even with her, she catches his elbow, forcing him to pause in his determined path.

"I _do_ trust you, Sammy," she assures him, tears glittering in her eyes when she realizes how much he'd truly doubted it. "I trust you _just as much_ as I do Dean. It just gets buried under the momentous need we feel to protect you from the rest of the crap that the world seems determined to hurl your way." She releases his arm, stepping back away from him and giving him the room to do whatever he has planned. "I trust you."

"Thank you," he whispers, and stalks forward with the gait of a predator circling its wounded prey. She just hopes it doesn't bode ill for Brady's outcome.

Tabitha stands at the rusty sink of the old kitchen, waiting for the outcome of her choice...and of Sam's decision. She can hear the slightly raised voices of the both of them in the other room. But no screams of pain. No death cries. Just...the steady beat of Dean continuing to pound at the bathroom door as he demands his release.

After a few minutes, she can hear Sam calling out to Dean and freeing him.

"What happened?" Dean orders. As he stomps out of the bathroom, he pauses by the kitchen at the sight of Tabitha near the sink. "And what, you just stand there?!" he shouts.

She shrugs her shoulders, picking up the beer she'd left half-drank on the counter. "Guess so," she agrees, slowly meandering after him as he stalks towards where they’re keeping the bound demon.

"What happened?" he repeats to Sam.

"Nothing," Sam informs him.

"My ass."

"Dean, I'm fine."

"Yeah? And what about Brady?" He rounds on Tabitha again, "What, you just decided to stand around doing nothing?! Just let him skewer the demon. Our _only_ shot at finding Pestilence."

As they round the corner into the room with the still alive, and well...possessed demon, Sam reminds him, "Like you said...we need him."

Dean huffs, not ready to let go of his anger. "Great. Well, he's still alive. But still not talking. Now what?"

Tabitha passes by her brothers, handing Sam her beer bottle as she tells them, "How 'bout I give him a whirl." Dean shoots her another look that clearly says he's still pissed off, so she points out, "Look, we've got nothing to lose, Dean. Maybe I can scare him straight."

Dean scoffs loudly at her notion. "Oh, right," he bitterly laughs. "'Cause you're really gonna scare a demon, Tab."

She peels her jacket off and tosses it at him, smoothing her plain ribbed tank top down before she stretches her arms above her head, grinning to herself at the way Brady tracks the movements with greedy eyes. Turning her back to the demon, she assures her brothers, "Trust me on this, women can be _twice_ as bloodthirsty as men...plus, more creative. And there's...perks to a woman that...knows a man intimately having...certain kinds of conversations with a guy. It helps when a woman knows what a man dislikes, but also what he likes...and what she can twist and turn against him." She pauses and gestures for them to back up. "You boys probably don't want to be here, though." She tosses them a wink. "Actually, trust me on this, you're _not_ gonna want to hear the little story I'm about to tell good ol' Brady, here."

The boys look skeptical, but finally nod and step back, letting her stay alone in the room with Brady.

Before Sam leaves, he softly tells his sister, "Thanks for having my back."

 

*************

 

An hour later, Tabitha steps back out of the room, taking her leather jacket from the back of the nearby sofa and tugging it on.

"Well, he's still not cracking," she sighs as she turns back to her brothers. "Not yet anyway. I'm giving him a little time to consider...the picture I drew for him. Hopefully once he's thought it over, he'll come to his senses."

With her jacket pulled on, she finally looks at her brothers, pausing at the grayish pallor of their skin.

"What?" she hesitantly asks them.

Dean swallows thickly. "You, ah...sure got a creative mind there, Tab. Dark and twisted...but creative."

She snorts. "Warned you not to listen in. And I already told you that women are the more bloodthirsty sex."

"I'll say," Crowley quietly agrees from behind the boys, startling them all with his sudden reappearance. Even _he_ looks a bit...astounded. He thoughtfully rubs at his chin as he appraises her with whole new eyes, telling her, "Creative is an understatement. I find myself strangely horrified and aroused at the same time. Thrilling prospect, really, luv."

Tabitha's expression crumples into a jeer. "And here I just find myself disgusted in your presence."

Crowley shakes himself and looks past her to where Brady is still tied, looking a bit...green around the gills for a demon.

"Right," he comments almost cheerfully, "I'd say he's softened up quite nicely now."

Tabitha scoffs once more at him. "Well, I aim for customer satisfaction."

Crowley shakes his head then, stepping around the Winchesters as he groans theatrically, "God. The day I've had."

And for once, Tabitha almost believes him as she actually pauses to take in the sight of him. Judging by the rumpled and disheveled appearance he suddenly sports, he seems to have had _some_ kind of day. His previously pristine suit is filthy and torn. Looking so very out of place for the demon.

As he steps into the room with Brady, he announces, "Good news. You're going to live forever."

While Crowley chuckles to himself, Brady suspiciously demands, "What did you do?"

Circling the bound demon, Crowley explains, "Went over to a demons' nest—had a little massacre."

"And you didn't invite me?" Tabitha chimes in with false cheer. "And here I thought we had something special going, Crowley."

He grins saucily at her. "Next massacre, luv."

Turning back to Brady, he woefully explains, all with a smile, "Must be losing my touch, though—let one of the little toads live." He stops again in front of Brad as he cheerfully adds, "Oops." Then continues, "Also might have given said toad the impression that you left your post last night because you and I are—" he dramatically pauses and holds up one stalling finger, "—wait for it—lovers in league against Satan."

As Brady closes his eyes in dread, Tabitha finds herself reluctantly grinning and admiring the demon's devious ingenuity.

"Nice," she grudgingly compliments. "Even has a nice ring to it."

After Crowley lets the news sink in for Brady, he grins and greets his bound counterpart, "Hello, darling." At Brady's stony silence, Crowley illustrates for him, "So, now death is off the table. Now you get to be on the boss's eternal-torment list. With little old me."

Finally cracking, Brady disbelievingly repeats, "Oh, no, no, no, no, no."

Unrelenting, Crowley adds, "Something else we have in common—apart from our torrid passion, of course—craven self-preservation. So, now, why don't you tell me where Pestilence is at?"

Brady starts to open his mouth, but pauses when they all hear the sounds of distant snarling and vicious barking.

Staring in shock and fear at the distance, Brady seems to realize what they're hearing first, fearfully whispering, "Oh, god, Crowley."

Catching on, too, Dean asks in disbelief, "Was that a Hellhound?"

The sounds cause a shiver to run down Tabitha's spine, and when she hears the hound release a chilling howl, she doubles over in pain, clutching at the mark on her chest, suddenly feeling a fire course through it like when Lucifer had first placed it on her.

As the snarling gets closer, Crowley confirms, "I'd say yeah."

" _Why_ was that a Hellhound?" Dean continues, worriedly grabbing at Tabitha's back to support her, bending down to search her eyes. Fear floods his own as his eyes narrow in on where her hand is clutching.

With all of her willpower, Tabitha straightens and shoves Dean's hand and concern away, insisting to him, "I'm fine. It's nothing."

Groaning and ignoring Tabitha and Dean, Crowley reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and fishes out an ancient looking coin.

"What's that?" Sam asks throwing worried looks at Tabitha, who shakes her head and squares her shoulders, reminding herself that she's lived through pain like that before and worse. And that if she lets it cripple her now, she'll find out just what kind of pain becoming a Hellhound's chew-toy involves.

"Remember I was telling you about my crafty little tracking device?" he asks, considering the coin in his hand.

"Yeah."

"Demons planted one on _me_."

Furiously, Sam demands, "You're saying a Hellhound followed you here?"

Turning the coin back and forth to display it, he emphasizes, "Well, technically, he followed _this_."

Interrupting, Brady desperately pleas, "Get me out of here. I'll tell you anything you want."

"Shut up," Sam irritably directs him.

Trying to remain calm, but still worriedly holding his sister's elbow, Dean says, "Okay, well, then we should go."

"Sorry, kids, no one knows more about the hounds than I. You're long past the point of 'Go.'"

Crowley tosses the coin up in the air, and after they all watch Dean catch it, they look up to see that the crossroads demon has disappeared.

"Damn him," Tabitha snarls, stepping into the space he'd occupied seconds before. "He brings this crap to our doorstep and then ditches us."

"I told you!" Sam snarls furiously at Dean.

Mockingly, Dean replies, "Oh, well, good for you." He pauses to look again at Tabitha with concern in his eyes before adding more seriously, "Luckily, we have salt in the kitchen."

Tabitha rushes after her brother, waving a dismissive hand in the air when Sam calls out, "I'll watch Brady."

As she rushes for her weapons cache, she hears Brady scoff then yell, "Watch me? Get me the hell out of here!"

Dean jogs into the kitchen, telling his sister, "I've got the salt, Tab. Get those sawed-off shotguns with the rock salt rounds and get back to Sam."

"On it!" she huffs in annoyance, trying to fight the chill running up her back as she hears the increasingly loud sounds of snarling and growling. As the hound lets out another blood-curdling howl, she buckles to one knee, dropping one of the sawed-offs to clutch again at the searing pain in her chest.

When she hears the shattering of glass, even her breath stops as she looks up to see the rough, ebony skin of a massive hound crash through the window, knocking Dean over as it scrambles to find purchase amidst the broken table it crashed into. The hound finally rights itself, turning red glowing eyes on Dean where he is still sprawled on the floor. When he scrambles on his hands and knees for the box of salt ten feet away from him, the hound launches itself in pursuit, corded muscles bunching and rolling underneath mottled and charcoal-blackened skin.

Tabitha knows by instinct that the hound is moving faster than her brother—that he won't make it to the box of salt—and intuitively brings her sawed-off up to the her shoulder, aiming for the powerful shoulder of the dog before firing. The rock salt blasts into the shoulder of the beast, ripping the hairless hide away from its joint, but only slightly slowing it down.

Quickly sliding the pump, she chambers another shell and fires again, aiming this time for the unprotected stomach of the hound as she stalks closer, pumping the shotgun with another practiced motion. The shot to the abdomen from only five feet away finally knocks the hound to its side, and as it snaps and snarls at her, struggling to regain its feet, she slams a foot into its neck, pinning it down as she places the shotgun behind its ear and firing once more.

For several seconds, she watches at the salt leaches away from the dog's wounds, and the wounds actually begin closing back up before she snaps out of her shock and begins backing away.

When she draws even with where Dean stands with another shotgun, she grabs his elbow, pulling him back towards Sam and Brady as she tells him, "Come on. That last shot's only gonna keep him down another minute or so. Damn thing's healing fast and it's gonna be pissed now."

As they back into the room where Sam is frantically untying Brady, Dean hisses to her, "You can _see_ the damn thing?!"

She almost falters and does trip a little as she backs up, startled that the revelation that hadn't hit _her_ sooner than it hit him.

"You...can't?" she hesitantly asks in a small voice, feeling her mouth suddenly go dry.

Dean grabs her and shoves her behind his back as he holds his shotgun at the ready, hearing what she can see around his shoulder: a pissed-off hellhound carefully rising from the floor as it pants and advances on them.

In a stark tone, he tells her over his shoulder, "I only saw them right before they ripped me to shreds and dragged me off to Hell. When I was marked for death."

She swallows hard but tells him, "I don't think they're here for me, though. I just think I can see them, 'cause of the...mark, you know."

Dean coldly fires another round at the hound, seeming to find comfort in the way it yelps and pauses just a bit in its advance. Under his breath he tells her, "That doesn't exactly make me feel any better, Tab."

Sam pauses in untying Brady to hopefully ask, "Salt?"

Dean jerks his head in a negative response, carefully keeping himself between the snarling hound and his sister.

Frantically, Brady pleads, "Damn it, get me out of here!"

"Shut up!" all of the Winchesters yell at once.

Unmindful of their yells, Brady continues to frantically cry, "Great. Just great."

"Where is it?" Dean whispers under his breath to his sister.

Over his shoulder, she points at it, explaining, "There. Torn between catching us or snacking on the conveniently staked goat over there," she motions to where Brady is still tied.

As Dean begins to raise his shotgun again, Crowley suddenly yells out, "Hey!" from behind the hound, catching its attention.

Shocked and obviously relieved, Dean exclaims, "You're back?"

"I'm invested," Crowley almost gallantly explains, but does tack on, "Currently."

And though Dean looks a bit more hopeful, Tabitha shrinks back behind him at the sight standing next to the demon.

It locks eyes on her and steps slowly forward, stalking with the eagerness of a lion hunting a gazelle.

But before it can take two steps, Crowley commands, "Stay!" halting the hound beside him.

Shocking both Winchesters, Dean manages to expectantly ask, "You can control them?"

Crowley points at the hound warily standing in the open space between them, saying, "Not _that_ one," then pats the head of the hound beside him, actually having to reach up to do so.

He clarifies for Dean, "I brought my own. Mine's bigger." Then he turns to his hound and shouts, "Sic him, boy!"

The hound squares off and charges the much smaller one, latching onto its throat and shaking its head, ripping flesh away from the smaller hound's neck as it yips and tries to scramble away from the death-grip.

Not wasting the opportunity of the hound's preoccupation with Crowley's hound, the Winchesters gather up Brady and shove him out of the house towards the Impala.

As Brady clamors into the back seat, Dean hold's open the driver's door and shoves Tabitha into the middle of the front seat.

Crowley takes the time to gloat, "I'll wager $1,000 my pup wins." He laughs as he climbs into the back seat so they can take off.

 

****************

 

"You okay?" Dean asks as he comes around to stand in front of the Impala.

Tabitha looks up from where she'd been sitting on the hood, arms wrapped around her torso. She shrugs in response.

He pauses beside her with a consoling squeeze to her shoulder. "It'll be okay," he assures her. "We'll get the Horsemen, lock the Devil in his cage, and figure out a way to scrub that mark off you."

Tabitha swallows thickly, looking down the alley at where Crowley and Brady are softly talking to each other. Brady mostly has his head down, writing something on a piece of paper.

Hesitantly, Tabitha tells her brother, "Maybe I should lay low for a while. Go stay with Bobby or something. I...I don't think I'm cut out for this. I think Dad was right, I wasn't meant to be a hunter."

In the hours since they fled Crowley's safe house, she'd had ample time to think. Ample time to consider all the mistakes she's made. Ample time to see how hopeless it all has become.

Dean follows her gaze, sighing in understanding. "What, because of the demon? Look, I know I was pissed, Tab. But not at you...not really. I'm pissed at that damn demon. But it's not your fault. It's no reason to quit now just because of a one-time mistake," he insists, moving to sit on the edge of the hood beside her.

"Two-times," she reminds him. "I've slept with _two_ men now that were possessed and I didn't even know it. With Brady it was only the one time, but with Casey? That was _months,_ Dean. _Months_. And I didn't see it. And everything that's happened since? I let the goddamned Devil get his hands on me and _mark_ me. And then I accept the stupid charm from Cas and end up destroying my Heaven." Her breath hitches a bit at the mention of the angel—the thought of losing him tears her up because she feels like that's her fault, too, because she was in danger and he felt the need to give her some of his Grace to protect her...thereby weakening himself. She swipes the leather sleeve of her jacket under her nose as she sniffles. "I thought I was ready to be back in the game and hunting with you guys, but I think I just keep making things worse by being here, Dean. Dad was right. I have no business out here. And you guys don't need me complicating things right now. You're trying to stop Armageddon. You don't need me making things worse. You don't need the distraction."

Dean springs to his feet, pacing back and forth a few times before stopping in front of her and spitting out, "Bullshit."

She pulls back in shock at the venom in that one word, still sniffling and wiping at the tears chasing each other down her cheeks.

Her brother grabs her shoulders as he insists, "You snap outta this bullshit, right now, Tabitha. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. And stop _lying_ to yourself. 'Cause that crap you just said, is a bunch of lies. And screw what Dad said to you back then. He was wrong then, and he's wrong now. You've got the best instincts of any hunter I know. Even better than me, which is saying something."

She manages to smile a bit at his over-inflated ego, and he latches onto it, seriously insisting, "I mean it, Tab. You've got better instincts than either me or Sammy. I know I don't tell you that, or tell you enough when you're right, but you are the second best hunter I know...behind me of course. And I can't have you quitting on me now. Not when we're so close to nabbing the last two rings. I still need you to help me protect Sammy."

He glances back down the alley to where Sam stands watch over the two demons.

Turning back to her, he continues, "I know you think your instincts are wrong because of those two assholes, but everyone makes mistakes. Hell, even me. Doesn't mean you get to give up though. And it doesn't mean your instincts are faulty."

She nods once, feeling her spirits lift a bit despite herself.

"Now," he tells her, letting go of her shoulders and stepping back, "let's go see what Crowley found out."

She feels her phone vibrate, and recognizing the Louisiana area code in New Orleans, she hangs back, telling her brother, "I gotta get this, Dean."

He nods and continues down the alley without her.

"Cort," she greets, immediately telling him, "I'm glad you finally called back. I've been trying to get a hold of someone to talk to Momma Cecile. I need to get a message, er, well, a request to her—"

"That's gonna have to wait, chére," he interrupts her. "She sent me a message that you need to get your butt down here. Not sure what's going on, but the message said there's something down here you'll need if you're gonna win."

She stands up straighter at the cryptic message, hesitantly and almost hopefully asking, "What's down there that I'm gonna need?"

"Dunno, chérie," he sighs. "Was told just a few minutes ago to get you on your way. I'm gonna go check on it now."

Glancing down the alley, she sees where Sam and Dean are locking Brady behind a salt line at the dead end. An appropriate location. She'd wanted in on dispatching him, but her gut tells her that Cort's call is more important. She just hopes Dean is right about her instincts, because she still feels a bit shaky on them herself. Finally, she decides that as long as she's still breathing, she has to trust to hope.

Turning away, she makes her decision and assures Cort, "I'll be on my way in a few minutes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay again in posting. Work is super busy, but I’m really liking the new job. But like anything, it has its good days and bad.
> 
> And you guys continue to amaze me with your amazing loyalty in reading and reviewing, so thank you, thank you!
> 
> There will be more to come, but since I’m in a bit of a rush to post this one today, I can’t respond individually to reviews like I normally do, so I’ll just tell you all right now how much I appreciate every one of you. I also read every review from you guys, and they are what keep me writing. So never give up on me. :)


	18. Chapter 18: Let the Sky Fall (Uncensored)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***You must be tall enough to ride this ride.***

**Chapter 18: Let the Sky Fall (Uncensored)**

 

"Strange place to meet, Cort," Tabitha greets as she looks curiously around the bustling hallways, sidestepping to avoid a harried looking nurse as she bolts past her for another room.

Cort shrugs in return, his expression more closed off than she's ever seen him be with her.

She takes the time to skim over his appearance, plain blue suit, rumpled from wear or stress, and loosened gray tie. The suit gives the impression of a man with stress radiating from him, but it's the wrinkles at his eyes, the dark glint in them that suddenly give her the sensation of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Despite the sudden awkward air filling the space between them, Tabitha forges on to ask him, "Okay, so why'd you want to meet at the West Jefferson Medical Center, then? You told me to get down to New Orleans immediately, and when I get to town, you call me to tell me to come to the hospital and won't say why. What's up?"

For just a moment, a flash of unfettered fury flits through his eyes, but then, it's gone so quickly that Tabitha almost swears she imagined it.

Not quite meeting her eyes again, but crossing his arms over his chest and feigning nonchalance, Cort blandly tells her, "It's where Momma Cecile sent me. Told me there's something real important here. Something _you_ needed if'n your brothers was to succeed in their cockamamie schemes." He sighs and shakes his head almost in a self-deprecating manner, still not quite looking at her. "Fool man that I am, I rushed down here. Kept things under wraps. Kept doctors from poking their noses too close or officially submitting any paperwork. Trying to be your white knight, I s'pose."

Finally meeting her eyes fully, he tells her, "Well, I found what you was looking for, I guess. An’ I kept him hidden till you got here."

When he jerks his head over his shoulder to indicate to the hospital room he stands outside of, her gaze follows. When she can't quite see into the room, she cautiously steps around Cort, finding her breath has stopped and her heart is nearly in her throat with the wild hope suddenly surging in her chest.

As she draws even with Cort, her hands fly to her mouth, holding back the choked sob lodged in her throat.

"Guess he _is_ what you was looking for," Cort darkly comments, drawing her eyes away from the sleeping figure of Castiel in the hospital bed as she looks back up at the man next to her.

Before her eyes, he seems to crumple backwards against the wall to the outside of Castiel's room, closing his eyes as if to shut out the world. The wrinkles she'd noted around his eyes seem to etch even deeper into his skin.

Wiping away the happy tears she can feel racing down her cheeks, she sadly bemoans, "Cort…" But trails off when she doesn't know what to say to ease the pain radiating from him.

Not knowing what to say, she begins again, "I'm—"

He quickly cuts her off with a low, harsh, " _Don't_."

Shaking his head, causing it to roll back and forth across the white sterile walls, he tells her, "I knew. I knew when I come down here I was in for a world of hurt. An' I knew as soon as I saw him what I was gonna find. Knew as soon as he started comin' to a bit o'er an hour ago and he started whispering your name. I knew.

"But I stubbornly held out that I was wrong. Held out 'till just now when I saw your face. Ain't no disguising that look. Ain't no explaining it away. An' I can't ignore it no longer." He finally opens his eyes to look down at her, tears shinning in his gaze. "You never looked that way at me. No matter what I told myself. No matter the lies I believed. The look you used to give me…well…it wasn't _that_ look."

Trying to assuage his pain, she reaches out to grip his bicep, hurriedly assuring him, "I _did_ love you, Cort. Maybe not like…But I loved you then. As much as I knew how."

"Then what changed?" he raggedly queries. "If you did love me back then, what happened?!"

"You walked away."

Cort suddenly thrashes viscously at the wall behind him, cursing darkly under his breath. "I told you," he finally grits through his teeth. "I told you that I had to do that. I had to leave an' give you the fair shake you needed to become the woman you needed to be. Lord knows I didn't _want_ to walk away. But I did it for _you_."

"And the woman I am now thanks you for what you did then. But it's the girl I _was_ that loved you. The woman I am now…"

She trails off, her eyes trailing across Cort's body to the unconscious angel in the room behind him without thought.

Cort stiffens when he tracks her gaze, forcing her to heave a weary sigh.

"I never shoulda left," he mutters under his breath. "I shoulda fought your daddy to stay."

"He never would have let you," she carefully reminds him.

He gives her a calculating look. "If I'd asked you to run with me back then, would you have?" he inquires, seeming to remember their conversation at his house several months back.

For a moment, she allows herself to imagine what life might have been like if she'd taken a different path. Just one different choice. And a whole different life.

"I wouldn't be the woman I am now," she sorrowfully reminds him, refusing to answer his question or to let her mind go further down that road of possibilities now.

"I'da made sure you weren't a lesser woman. I'd have made sure you were happy," he fervently insists.

"You'd have done your best," she agrees, finally letting the possibilities of it all unfold in her mind's eye. The vision of what might have been.

Softly, almost wistfully, she describes, "I would have had everything I ever wanted when I was young. A beautiful home in New Orleans with an honest to goodness white picket fence. We'd have gotten married. Who knows, by now, maybe we'd even have a kid on the way." Her breath hitches a little at voicing a need and desire she thought she'd long since subjugated. All the possibilities of what she might have had are almost staggering.

Soldiering on, she squares her shoulders and continues describing, "You would have let me hunt with you." Heaving another sigh, she follows with, "At least in the beginning. But eventually you would have tried to wrap me in wool as if I was glass. Kept me out of the most dangerous hunts to protect me. You'd of smothered me. Without even trying to. You don't think I'd of been a lesser woman. But I _would_ have been. I'd have been diminished just by standing in your shadow. Doesn't matter that that wouldn't have been your intention. You're larger than life, Cort. And I never would have been ready to stand beside you if I'd gone with you back then. You'd have smothered me until I was just a shell…Or until I ran away to escape being crushed. But I wouldn't have been happy. And neither would you."

He scoffs angrily. "So you couldn't have stood beside me if you'd come with me then. But now that you're _more_ than able to stand beside me…you can't love me. Kinda sounds like I was damned coming and going."

With a strangled laugh, she rubs at the mark on her chest as she sympathizes, "I know what you mean."

"So that's it," he darkly surmises, eyes closing and head falling against the sterile white wall again. "I either missed my chance…or never really had one."

Offering the only comfort she can, Tabitha reaches out to grip his limp hand between them.

He instantly curls his fingers around her smaller hand in a desperate clutch.

In a hushed whisper, he admits, "I still sometimes dream about what it'd be like if you'd come with me. If you'd be my wife right now. If you'd have had my child. We're happy when I picture it. So damn happy."

Curling her fingers around his, she admits, "I wonder about it sometimes, too. Even picture it all. But in my mind, that happiness is only fleeting. Still, I do sometimes picture it. But it's just a fantasy."

He opens his eyes, looking down at her as he shakes his head. "Maybe we just can't make it work _now_. Maybe someday down the road we'll finally get our real shot together. And make it work."

Not wanting to inflate false hope, she sadly responds, "Maybe. But I don't see it happening, Cort. And I don't want you putting your life on hold waiting for something like that. I want you to be happy."

His eyes drift briefly over his own shoulder into the room at his back. "What's that vegetable got that I don't? The Apocalypse is knocking down the door, Tab. How the hell is that worthless man gonna be any use to you? Why is _he_ the one you come racing down here for?"

"There are no words to accurately describe it," she struggles to explain. "And I didn't know what I was going to find when I came down here," she reminds him.

He releases her hand then, pushing away from the wall as he turns to face her, purpose shinning in his eyes as he tries again. "Just because we can't work now, doesn't mean it won't be right for us again someday."

Shaking her head, eyes darting to the hospital bed over his shoulder, she responds, "My heart lies elsewhere. I don't see that changing. The part of me that was that girl once, still loves you, Cort. And she always will. But I want you to be happy. And that's not going to be with me."

"Things change," he insists. "Your heart changed once. It could change again."

When she sighs in frustration and begins to argue with him, he steps closer, closing the distance and effectively silencing her as one of his hands curls behind her neck, the other yanking her hips into his body.

Without a word, his lips drop to hers, devouring her argument with desperate, greedy kisses. Ones she's never been able to resist responding to.

When he pulls back, leaving them both panting for breath, he triumphantly tells her, "You can't tell me a kiss like that doesn't mean I don't someday still stand a chance."

"Cort," she sighs, but he retreats from her, turning and striding down the crowded hallway before she can speak further. Not that she knows how to explain to him that while he still stirs her on a physical level, his touch no longer strikes the same cord with her heart.

It's a testament to the frenzied state of the hospital that none of the other patients, visitors, or even staff paused to spare their display any notice. The Apocalypse, Tabitha realizes, has been booming for the healthcare industry. Not necessarily in a positive fashion.

As a nurse goes flying by, Tabitha manages to snag her arm, asking for a moment of her time.

"That patient in there," she points towards Castiel's room, "what can you tell me about him?"

The nurse gives her a wary look, a look hardened by years of practice to make up for her diminutive size. "We can't give information out on patients." Tabitha doesn't kowtow to the nurse's icy look, having received far worse than the little woman could ever dish out. Instead of backing down, she crosses her arms over her chest, causing the little nurse's chin to jut upward in defiance.

Remembering Cort's FBI standard, dark blue suit, and his words about keeping Castiel hidden, she digs into the cavernous purse dangling from her shoulder, pulling out a badge that she displays for the short-statured nurse.

"US Deputy Marshal Julie Anne Smith," she authoritatively explains, holding the Marshal's badge out for inspection as she quickly comes up with her cover story. She's just as practiced as the little nurse at giving glacial hardened look. "That Fed was holding this guy till I could get here. He's a witness for the prosecution in Chicago that took off before he could be subpoenaed to testify. I'm charged with bringing him in safely to do just that."

The nurse gives her appearance a skeptical look. Tabitha knows what she sees: a ragged looking woman in jeans with holes at the knees, heavily scuffed biker boots, and a wrinkled flannel shirt hanging open over a slightly stained white tank top. But she raises a single eyebrow in a well-practiced challenge, and sees the moment the nurse writes her appearance off as the supposedly ragged and casual appearance most television shows seem to portray the Marshals. Not that it's far off, she grants to herself. Especially for a Marshal discreetly chasing someone and trying to blend in with the teeming masses.

"Special Agent Louis Armstrong didn't say anything about the Marshals wanting our patient," she defensively responds, unconsciously fluffing her brown pixie locks as she speaks of Cort. It's a reaction she's seen from many women when they think or speak of Cort. The man had always been too damn appealing for his own good.

"The Bureau was working closely with us once they identified our runner. They'd have no reason to divulge any of that information with _you_ ," she imperiously informs the woman, realizing that while she's annoyed with the little nurse's flushed response while mentioning Cort, she's not even slightly jealous. She finds herself objectively thinking that while the nurse had some moxy in trying to stare _her_ down, she was still far too doe eyed for someone that had been hunting as long as Cort had.

Her superior attitude seems to convince the nurse, who huffs and grabs a chart from the plastic holder just outside of Castiel's room and begins flipping through it.

Flipping a few more pages, she shrugs and tells Tabitha, "Not sure what use that guy in there's going to be. He's been brain-dead since they brought him in."

Tabitha fights the choked inhale she starts to take at the nurse's proclamation, asking in a prompting tone that she's surprised doesn't waver, "Brought him in?"

"Yeah," the nurse casually shrugs. "I heard he suddenly appeared on some shrimping boat near Delacroix. Supposedly scared the crap out of the crew. But I'm sure that's just some bogus story they came up with to cover for them all being drunk on duty or something. I mean, people don't just appear out of nowhere, right?"

Tabitha nods in feigned agreement. "Right," she glances in on Castiel again, wondering if it's her imagination or if he's moved slightly. Despite what the nurse tells her, she consoles herself with the knowledge that Cort had said that the angel had moaned her name.

"Delacroix?" she curiously repeats, looking back to the nurse.

The young woman glances at the chart again. "Yeah, that's what it says here. It was pretty devastated after Katrina, but there's still good shrimping out that way. Not sure what your guy was doing there, other than hiding from _you_ I guess."

Tabitha gives the woman a hard look, only glancing away when the shorter woman begins to squirm. To herself, she once more repeats, "Delacroix." Then thinks, _You must have some twisted sense of humor, God,_ as she glances back down the hallway where Cort had disappeared. Because, of all the places in the world Castiel could have ended up, he winds up in her former flame's backyard, off of a port named after his family. "God has a sick sense of humor," she sighs quietly.

At the nurse's questioning hum, Tabitha shakes herself and slips back in the authoritative mode she's so familiar with.

"All right if I check him out myself?" Tabitha asks, eyes sliding back to the angel, trying to remember how'd he'd been lying when she first looked at him and whether or not he'd moved.

"Sure, knock yourself out," the nurse agrees, shrugging before hurrying off to get back to whatever she'd been doing before Tabitha interrupted her.

 *************************

Despite her desire to fling herself into the room and immediately assure herself that Castiel isn't a dream or figment of her imagination, Tabitha cautiously enters the rooms, carefully approaching the hospital bed.

Just as she reaches the hospital bed, Castiel turns his head to stare her in the eye, startling a gasp out of her as she takes an involuntary step backwards, hand flying to cover her mouth.

For several moments, they simply stare at each other, and though she can feel tears from a multitude of emotions clouding her vision, she sees no emotion in the angel's face to give her any hints as to what he's thinking or feeling. She hasn't, she realizes, seen him this closed off with her in a while now. And wonders about seeing that stony expression on both his and Cort's faces.

Finally, Castiel breaks their gaze, biting back a moan as he shift on the bed. At the noise, Tabitha hurries forward to help him sit more upright in the bed, pushing buttons until the head of the bed raises to a more comfortable level.

Looking around the room, the angel asks in a voice sounding rough from disuse, "What is this place?"

With only a cursory glance at the drab and impersonal space of the room, she succinctly informs him, "Hospital."

At his scrunched features, she elaborates, "You apparently appeared on a shrimping boat somewhere off of Delacroix. Sounds like you startled the hell outta the crew. The doctors said you were brain dead, but I guess…" She makes a negating gesture as she trails off.

A sigh escapes the angel in a soft puff as he leans back into his hospital bed, his eyes avoiding Tabitha as she pulls one of the nearby chairs closer to his bed. There are so many things she wants to say…so many things she wants to ask…She can see that he's in obvious pain though, an emotion she's never truly seen cross his features—at least not to this extent. And it all leaves her unsettled, struggling for the next step she should take.

As she finally parts her lips to speak—unsure even herself what was going to come out of her mouth—Castiel beats her to the punch, asking in a low, hoarse voice, "Would you have absconded with the human twelve years ago had he asked it of you?"

For a moment, Tabitha freezes in confusion, trying to puzzle out the question.

If I'd asked you to run with me back then, would you have?

Cort's words suddenly ring in her ear, causing her to inhale a sharp breath as she realizes how long the angel had been awake, and obviously listening in.

When she's silent, Castiel whispers in an even softer and hoarser voice, "You never answered his question. Would you have gone?"

Unable to lie to the near desperation she hears in his voice, she answers in a soft whisper, "Yes."

The angel turns his head even further away from her, the side of his face pressing into his pillow.

Refusing to stop now, Tabitha pushes on. "If Cort had asked me to run away with him when I was seventeen, I'd have gone with him. My father never would have let him stay, so I'd have left with him if he'd asked. I loved him with everything my seventeen-year-old heart knew about love. But Cas—" She reaches out to lay a hand on the angel's arm, ignoring the way he refuses to meet her eye or respond to her touch. "—what I told Cort, that was all true. It would have broken me if I'd gone with him. I would have ended up miserable. Nothing but a shell of the woman I am now. It would have destroyed me. And him, too, if I'd gone with him. Despite generally thinking that destiny is a load of crap, sometimes…every so often…things do happen that change the course of our lives for the better. Like they really _were_ supposed to happen that way."

"You could have had a normal life with him," Castiel whispers into his pillow, a stubborn insistence clinging to his voice. "You _could_ have been happy. You don't know that you wouldn't have been. Maybe _that_ was meant to have been your destiny."

With a weary laugh, she replies, "I'll take free-will over destiny any day of the week. Free will was what led Cort to make the decision to walk away, even when _I_ would have made the wrong decision to go with him. Free-will can sometimes lead us to make the wrong choices, but luckily—even if Cort doesn't believe that now—it led him to make the right one."

Voice barely audible, Castiel whispers, "I wish you could have the happiness you deserve."

Standing from the chair she'd pulled closer, Tabitha turns to prop her hip on the edge of the hospital bed, gripping one of the angel's hands in hers as she slide her other along his jaw, turning him until he faces her.

Letting him see the truth in her smile, she warmly explains, "Right now, I'm happy beyond belief that you're alive and still here."

"You wouldn't be in the middle of this mess if you'd gone with him," he stubbornly insists, eyes searching hers for some unfathomable answer.

Still smiling she happily orders, "Shut the hell up you stupid son of a bitch."

Not allowing him to respond, she bends to brush her lips against his, intending to give him a yearning, but chaste kiss to prove her happiness. To prove that she's right where she wants to be, despite the mess she finds herself in.

The angel responds instantly to her kiss, one of his hands sliding to the nape of her neck to halt her retreat with a furious desperation. His tongue sweeps past her lips when she gasps in surprise at the fervor of his returned passion, but she eagerly responds to his returned kiss, a feeling like going home settling over her as she lets him pull her closer, her arms settling on either side of him.

As one of her hands slips to brace against his chest, the angel pulls back with a wheeze of pain, his head punching back into the pillow.

Cursing to herself, Tabitha jumps from the bed, carefully extracting herself so as to minimize hurting him further. "Oh god, you're in pain. I'm so sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to…Is there anything…What can I get you?"

Even with his eyes tightly shut, the angel's hand darts out to grab hers, locking around her fingers and halting her retreat from his bedside.

After a few moments of measured breathing, the angel meekly asks her, "I don't suppose you could find me whatever it is that humans use to dull pain?"

Brushing the unkempt dark locks from his forehead, she chuckles and assures him, "Yeah. I think we're in the right place to get you some pain meds."

 

****************

 

Several hours later—and a lot of threatening and posturing on her part to keep the doctors from wheeling her angel off for further study—and Tabitha finds herself once more alone with Castiel.

She sits once more on the edge of his bed, but only takes one of his hands in hers again as she sits facing him. It had taken a lot out of her to fight the doctors who were enthralled by his sudden and seemingly miraculous recovery and keep them from taking him for x-rays, MRIs, and every other kind of abbreviation test they could think of. But none of them was quite willing to cross the barking orders of the woman with the badge. Yet. Though she knew if they stayed much longer, they'd try to figure out ways around her. So far, it had been a minor miracle that both she and Cort had been able to get the hospital to keep Castiel labeled as John Doe. Then again, they'd been more interested in his sudden resurrection than they were in his name.

"Where are you brothers?" Castiel asks her when they are once more alone, exhaustion weighting his voice.

Shrugging, Tabitha guesses, "Probably back to Bobby's place by now. That's where they said they'd be when I was done with my…errand."

"Dean didn't say yes to Michael."

At the slightly questioning lilt to his statement, she responds, "No. He didn't. He killed Zachariah. But they got Adam before we could. We couldn't get him out."

Nodding once, the angel tells her, "We should return to them."

"Yeah, we should," she agrees, then cautiously looks him up and down. "I mean, can't you like…zap us to Bobby's?"

He shakes his head, darkly telling her, "No. I'm utterly useless to you now."

After a heavy pause, he directs her, "Call them." His eyes close again as he leans back into the pillow on the raised bed. Pain and exhaustion line his face, making him look years older.

She laughs to herself at the thought, realizing that the lines she sees are only the manifestation showing on his vessel, that Castiel himself is actually some kind of hellaciously incalculable number of years older than she is.

Properly sobered by her realization, her laughter dies suddenly, causing her to shake her head as she retrieves her cellphone.

Dialing Dean's number, she looks up to see the angel watching her with a narrowed gaze, no doubt confused by her sudden laughter…and its even more sudden cessation.

" _Great,_ " Dean growls in her ear. " _Just who I wanted to talk to. Did you know about this?_ "

Startled by the sudden demand, she can only say, "Uh, I just found out." She glances at the angel, wondering how he'd known.

" _You knew Sam wanted to be a Muppet for the Devil and you didn't think to let me know!_ " Sounds of the phone shifting in his hand away from her precede his voice yelling at someone else on his end, " _Thank you_ both _for the heads up on that one!_ "

Bobby's voice answers in the distance, " _Hey, this ain't about_ me."

" _You can't do this._ " Her brother's voice then comes louder in her ear as he pulls the phone closer to tell her, " _He can't do this_."

"Oh, that," she sighs in understanding to the argument she seems to have joined midway.

" _What do you mean, 'Oh, that'?_ " he demands, " _What the hell did you think I was talking about?_ "

Before she can reply, she hears Sam calmly respond, " _That's the consensus._ "

" _All right. Awesome. Then end of discussion,_ " she hears Dean tell Sam. Then he demands from her, " _Right?_ "

"Yeah, right," she hastily agrees. "That's exactly what I told him."

When Castiel gives her a confused look, she shakes her head, not wanting to delve into the matter at the moment.

Voice softer as he pulls the phone away, Tabitha can still make out Dean telling Sam, " _This isn't over_ —" Before turning back to her and asking, " _Now, where the hell are you and when are you getting your ass back up here? World's kinda ending so I think it's time to cut your little errand short. Whatever voodoo lady sent you after is gonna have to wait until we figure out how to nab Pestilence._ "

Reaching up to impatiently take the phone from her, Castiel irritably speaks into the phone, "Dean?"

Tabitha can hear the shock in his voice as Dean responds. " _Cas?_ " After another moment, he adds, " _We all thought you were dead. Where the hell have you been_?"

Looking around at the dingy yellow walls again, Castiel answers, "A hospital."

" _Are you okay?_ "

"No."

" _You want to elaborate?_ "

Looking at Tabitha again, he tells her brother, "I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead."

" _S-so, a hospital?_ "

"Tabitha says, that after Van Nuys, I suddenly appeared, bloody and unconscious, on a shrimping boat off Delacroix. She says it upset the sailors," Castiel continues to matter-of-factly tell her brother.

Obviously trying to stop the angel's rambling, Dean tells him, " _Uh, well, I got to tell you, man_ —you're just in time. We figured out a way to pop Satan's box."

"How?" Castiel demands, sitting forward and wincing in pain as his eyes narrow in inquisition on Tabitha.

"It's a long story," she tells him. "And we haven't really had time to even go over the highlights."

" _Exactly,_ " Dean agrees, obviously overhearing her. " _Time for that later. We're going after Pestilence now. So if you and Tab could zap over here_ …"

Leaning back and staring at the ceiling, that dark tone returns as Castiel informs Dean, "I can't 'zap' anywhere."

" _What do you mean?_ "

"You could say my batteries are—are drained."

Incredulously, Dean demands, " _What do you mean? You're out of angel mojo?_ "

"I'm saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I'm saying that I'm just incredibly…"

When Castiel trails off his complaints with a dark chuckle, Dean finishes with, " _Human._ "

Both sigh in response, and Tabitha's eyes are drawn to the charm on her bracelet, making her guiltily wonder how much stronger he might still be if he hadn't siphoned so much of his Grace already into that pendent, trying to make her stronger. She'd only ever considered what his actions had done to _her_ , but looking at him weak and frail in that hospital bed, she was finally confronted with the reality of how much he'd sacrificed in his efforts to give her added strength and protection. However misguided she still thinks his efforts were, they'd been to help _her_.

" _Wow_ ," Dean succinctly states, startling her from her thoughts. " _Sorry_."

Seeing the defeated look on the angel's face, Tabitha gently pries the phone away, telling her brother, "Look, we'll get there. We're just going to have to travel the regular way. Cas is hurt, and it's gonna take time for us to get the documents together for a plane ride."

" _Plane?_ " Dean repeats in surprise. " _Just steal a car. Don't need any paperwork then, so it'll be faster. We need you_ both _to get your asses up here. You especially now_ …"

She's glad he trails off and doesn't finish his thought, though Castiel still winces at Dean's implication of his supposed uselessness.

"I stole cars and drove straight _here_ , Dean. I'm exhausted, too. I can catch some sleep on a plane. Plus, Cas is in pain. And on some heavy pain meds. It'd be easier traveling for him, too," she points out. "And I've got everything I need to make some doctored IDs for Cas that _should_ pass FAA standards, though I don't like putting my skills up against theirs."

" _All right, just get it done. And get up here. You need anything? Money?_ "

"I should have enough cash with me to cover things," she replies, frowning when Castiel makes a motion for her to return the phone to his grip.

Without preamble, Castiel tells Dean, "You said 'No' to Michael. I owe you an apology."

" _Cas_ …i-it's okay," Dean assures the angel.

In his usual matter-of-fact way, Castiel continues, "You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be."

In an unimpressed tone, Dean tells him, " _Thank you. I appreciate that._ "

Still oblivious to his sarcasm, Castiel responds, "You're welcome."

Snatching the phone back, Tabitha exasperatedly asks her brother, "Where should we meet you guys at?"

 

********************

 

Between the entire bottle of pain meds Castiel had unceremoniously swallowed, and the sleep he'd managed to get on the plane, Castiel looks much stronger when they reach Davenport, Iowa. Despite his seeming recovery, Tabitha can't help but hover a bit closer to the angel, still worrying about him.

The plane ride had been unsettlingly silent. The angel was wrapped in his own thoughts, leaving Tabitha to ponder her own as she tried to guess what was going through the angel's mind.

Despite their briefly heated kiss, things had been decidedly more…tepid between them since. Castiel seemed to avoid even casually touching her, leaving her to feel strangely…bereft.

As they approach the strangely quiet nursing home, Castiel stops and grabs her hand.

"Perhaps you should wait out here," he advises her.

She glances at where he holds her hand in a solid grip, and despite feeling settled by his touch, bristles a bit at his chauvinistic suggestion, her eyes narrowing on him as she reminds him, "You're only upright now because you just swallowed an entire bottle of Oxy. You're lucky _that_ doesn't knock you right back on your ass. So, I'm going."

As she attempts to brush past him, he catches her arm in an iron hold, halting her beside him. "I'm just trying to protect you."

When his thumb rubs soothingly against the leather jacket covering her arm, she softens, turning to look into his imploring eyes.

"They're _my_ brothers," she firmly reminds him. "So I'm going, too. I can look after myself."

She almost expects more resistance, but he merely nods once, holding her gaze before turning back towards the brightly lit building across the street.

Now, it's her turn to catch his arm to stop him, tugging on his elbow as he questioningly turns to face here.

Silently, she reaches into his trench coat, popping up the collars on his shirt and suit jacket.

When his brows furrow in confusion, she reaches into her jacket pocket, pulling out the blue tie he'd given her. She'd kept it with her since Van Nuys. Kept it safe. But despite the small reassurance its continued presence has given her, she knows it belongs back on the angel.

He watches with silent, but curious eyes as she slides the tie into place, properly knotting it and pulling it tight before tugging slack back into it, just as she's done numerous other times. It never looks quite right unless it's a bit askew. Her small act of helping him to redress somehow seems comforting to them both, and he reaches up to cup her jaw in his calloused hand.

"You kept it," he whispers, something close to astonishment mixed in with something almost…reverent.

She nods, realizing her eyes had slide shut as she savors the warmth of his rough fingers against her skin. Opening her eyes again, she tells him, "I couldn't let go of it. Even when my head told me it was impossible…to give up…I just couldn't let go of it."

He pulls her closer, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead before tilting his head and resting the side of his temple against hers as his arms pull her close. She settles in to the cocoon of warmth his body offers. And wonders again to herself if that sensation she feels is what it's like to have a home. That safety and security.

So brief, so chaste a touch doesn't stir her lust like Cort's kiss so many hours before had. But it reaches so much deeper, settling a deep ache in her chest she hadn't realized was still churning there. Tugging at her heart in a way nothing has in a long time. Perhaps ever.

The angel isn't good with the feelings or emotions of humans, and she knows she isn't much better—despite being human herself—but somehow, she knows it's his form of apology for her grief. And his assurance that he'll do his best not to let it happen again.

Her arms slide up the angel's back, anchoring her fingertips on the backside of his shoulders as she presses her own temple harder against his, trying to convey her own apologies. And her assurances that somehow…somehow things will work out.

At last, they mutually pull away, each sliding a hand down to grip between them, turning and walking across the street together.

"I don't like this," Tabitha whispers as they enter the eerily silent nursing home. Her free hand slides out the Glock at her back, the weight of it comforting her with its familiarity, even if something tells her it won't be much use here.

Castiel nods in agreement to her statement, leading her around a corner despite how wary they both are.

Dead bodies are scattered on the tile floors, the putrid smell of sickness and death assaulting their senses. Castiel falters a bit, but shakes himself and carefully continues to lead her between the bodies.

The sights sicken even Tabitha, long used to grisly murders from years of hunting, as well as years of working crime scenes filled with the atrocities humans perpetrate against each other.

It's the smell, she thinks to herself, pressing her nose into the crook of her elbow, trying to clog her nasal passages. She's never smelled anything quite like the combination of death, decay, and disease that permeates the air.

"How do we know where to go?" she asks, her voice muffled against the leather of her jacket.

Castiel almost staggers as he leads forward, looking briefly over his shoulder as he grimly tells her, "It's getting stronger in this direction."

She doesn't have to ask what. It's the smell, and the putrid sight of dead bodies. But mostly it's the foreboding feeling of impending doom that grows with every step.

As they turn down a particular hallway, they finally hear voices in the deathly silence.

The strongest voice she doesn't recognize, but she wonders what it says about their lives that she does recognize the anguished moans, groans, and coughs of her brothers.

When she would have darted forward to help them, Castiel holds her back, whispering, "I'm an angel. Let me go first." She would have objected, but he continues, "I'll distract the Horseman. You'll know when to come."

She nods, releasing his hand as she watches him disappear around the corner.

She's not far behind him, turning her back to the wall just outside the door he charges through.

The voice she doesn't recognize, she supposes it belongs to Pestilence, makes a startled demand. "How'd you get here?"

"A car," Castiel answers, referring to the car she'd boosted at the Des Moines airport. "Don't worry, I—"

Whatever the angel had intended to say is cut off by muffled noises and a loud thud. Then she hears Castiel join her brother in making pain-filled moans.

"Well, look at that," she hears Pestilence say, his amusement setting her teeth on edge. "An occupied vessel, but powerless. Oh, that's fascinating. There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?"

Unable to wait any longer for whatever sign Castiel had intended to give, she spins into the doorway of the room, her Glock leveled as she fires three rapid shots into the chest of the man crouching over Castiel and her brothers.

The impacts of the bullets spin him around slightly as he springs to his feet, but otherwise, he seems unaffected as he glances down at the holes in his suit jacket. Then, he turns to stare at her in fascination.

Despite wanting to flee his eager fascination with her, she inches forward, turning and angling away from her brothers, taking Pestilence's focus with her and away from them. She can feel sweat break out over her body, her skin feeling tight and sensitive to the fever she can suddenly feel roll through her.

"Something I can help you with?" she asks when he continues to gleefully smirk in her direction.

"What a wonderful quandary," he replies. "You're hardly affected at all, aren't you? I see where all that angel power went. Your body can resist because you're loaded up on vitamin angel, leaving him with hardly a speck left."

She can suddenly see Castiel push to his feet behind the Horseman, and knows what his move will be as soon as she sees him grab for Ruby's knife on the floor. Pestilence sees the movement behind him as well, and as his attention diverts from her, Tabitha rushes behind him, locking an arm around his neck in a choke-hold that shoves his upper body down to slam against the nearest table.

Castiel is beside her almost instantly, grabbing Pestilence's hand and splaying his ring finger across the tabletop.

Tabitha twists her face away as the angel slices through the Horseman's fingers to sever the ring from his hand, but still catches a spurt of blood to the side of her face as she releases Pestilence and he staggers away from her.

"Maybe just a speck," Castiel assures the Horseman, blood still trickling from his lips.

The possessed nurse in the corner hadn't garnered much notice from Tabitha before, but when she furiously rushes at Castiel, Tabitha twists to intercept her, the two tumbling to the floor in a tangle of fists.

As the demon punches her again, Tabitha twists her body and forcefully rolls the demon underneath herself, holding her hand out to Castiel who obligingly tosses her the demon knife. In a quick, practiced overhand motion, Tabitha plunges the knife into the demon, rolling off of her and wiping the blood from her face and hands as Sam scrambles to his feet and pulls her up as well.

They all turn to Pestilence as the Horseman informs them, "It doesn't matter. It's too late."

Tabitha glances between the severed finger and ring Dean holds to the Horseman holding his bloodied hand in the air.

With no more warning than that, the Horseman vanishes.

 

*****************

 

"Well, it's nice to actually score a home run for once, ain't it?" Bobby asks them as they gather around his desk.

Dean tosses Pestilence's ring onto the cluttered desk, not looking as…enthused as Bobby had been trying to project.

"What?" the older hunter warily asks, noticing Dean's pensive state.

"Last thing Pestilence said," Sam supplies, "'It's too late.'"

"He get specific?" Bobby carefully inquires.

Shaking her head, Tabitha slumps a bit further against the roll-top desk beside Castiel as she answers, "Nope. Just that."

"We're just a little freaked out that he might have left a bomb somewhere. So please tell us you have actual good news," Dean irritably adds.

Bobby pauses before relaying, "Chicago's about to be wiped off the map. Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die."

"Huh," Dean thoughtfully grunts.

Castiel had almost appeared to be napping where he'd been sitting partially on table of the roll-top desk, one arm and elbow propping his head up along the top of the desk. But he opens his eyes, doubtfully puzzling, "I don't understand your definition of good news."

The men all heave sighs of frustration with the angel as Bobby patronizingly explains, "Well…Death, the Horseman—he's gonna be there. And if we can stop him before he kick-starts this storm, get his ring back—"

Interrupting him, his voice laden with sarcasm, Dean butts in, "Yeah, you make it sound so easy."

Annoyed, Bobby tells him, "Hell, I'm just trying to put a spin on it."

Looking slightly chastised, the boys nod in response, but Tabitha straightens from her slump beside the angel, standing at her full height as she crosses her arms over her chest and narrows in on Bobby.

"What I want to know," she tells him in a hard voice, "is just how you put this all together, Bobby. 'Cause you sound pretty damn sure about this impending doom in Chicago. So just _how_ did you find this all out?"

Evasively, the man replies, "I had, you know…help."

Before Tabitha can pressure him for a straight answer, she jumps a little in surprise at the feel of Castiel's fingers running coyly up and down her right side, pulling up the hem of her flannel shirt and t-shirt to brush against her skin. As she turns to her left to remind him that her brothers are sitting only a few feet away—albeit with their backs to the two of them—she sees his head once more propped up by his hand and bent elbow, and his other hand dangling loosely on top of his thigh.

Whipping back to her right, her head nearly collides with Crowley's as he leans in close to her neck. The demon inhales deeply, his eyes closing as though he's savoring a fine wine before he whispers in her ear, "Enchanting perfume, my dear. Just captivating."

Tabitha darts a look down at herself, her forehead nearly colliding with the demon as she does so. She hadn't worn any perfume, but realizes she's still wearing the same clothes spattered with the blood of both a Horseman and a demon.

Her fury finally spurs her to action, lending her strength and speed to twirl away from the demon, tugging her shirts back down as she spits at that egotistical smirk, "Keep your slimy hooves off of me you, disgusting slime-ball."

Crowley ignores the sounds of everyone else twisting in surprise to face him, calmly telling Tabitha, "Sticks and stones, luv."

Then, he walks back into Bobby's kitchen, helping himself to a generous tumbler-full of whiskey before he turns his attention to Bobby, telling him, "Don't be so modest." He looks up with a nefarious grin as he adds, "I barely helped at all."

Whiskey in hand, Crowley steps into Bobby's study, causing Tabitha to take an infuriated step backwards, trying to keep him at a distance. Barely one step back, her retreat is halted when her back collides with Castiel's chest.

She feels the angel's hand slide against the small of her back, fingers curling into the fabric of her flannel shirt as if to anchor her or himself, but when she swears she sees the demon's eyes narrow suspiciously on her, she takes a determined step forward away from the angel, not wanting the crossroads demon to get any kind of notions in his head—right or wrong—about her and Castiel.

Somehow, her quick step forward away from the angel seems to make the demon's eyes narrow fractionally more, and then the hint of smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. There and gone so quickly, she's not sure if she truly saw it. Somehow, though, she thinks she may have miscalculated in stepping away from the angel so rapidly.

Nevertheless, Crowley doesn't miss a beat, not even his stride slowing as he steps further into the room. Once he draws even with Tabitha, he lasciviously greets in a smoky smooth voice, "Hello, luv…" he continues past her and adds more mundanely for her brothers' benefit, "—boys."

As he leans across the entryway from her, he focuses on Bobby and the boys as he indifferently tells them, "Pleasure, et cetera."

Then, he smells the whiskey, making a face of disgust before setting it to the side untouched.

Perking up somewhat, he directs Bobby, "Go ahead, tell them. There's no shame in it."

Suspicions building, Sam and Dean turn to face Bobby, Sam dubiously asking, "Bobby? Tell us what?"

Bobby's eyes skip over his three surrogate children almost imperceptibly before he tells them, "World's gonna end. Seems stupid to get all precious over one little…soul."

"You sold your soul?" Dean demands, voice deepening with shock and anger.

As Tabitha shakes with silent fury, she feels Castiel sigh behind her, one of his hands reaching forward almost imperceptibly to lay a comforting hand on her forearm.

Crowley is quick to inform them, "Oh, more like pawned it. I fully intend to give it back."

"Then give it back now, you sonofabitch!" Tabitha growls, stopping only when Castiel's hand of comfort turns to one of restraint.

"I will," Crowley calmly answers amidst Dean's own resounding objections.

"Did you kiss him?" Sam suddenly asks.

It startles a censoring rebuttal from Dean who scolds, "Sam!"

"Just wondering," Sam tells Dean, after which they both pause to glance curiously at the older hunter.

Even Tabitha's fury is stalled for a moment as she turns to regard the wheelchair-bound hunter.

Glancing between the three, Bobby vehemently refutes, "No!"

In the following silence, Crowley clears his throat, drawing their attention to the cellphone he holds in the air, showing photographic proof of them…sealing the deal.

Indignantly, Bobby asks, "Why'd you take a picture?"

Unperturbed, Crowley fires back, "Why do you have to use tongue?"

Shivering at the revolting scenario, Tabitha mutters, "That's disgusting. I'm never getting that image out of my head."

"Don't be jealous, luv," Crowley coos. "Our first kiss will be much hotter."

Tabitha takes a step backwards when she feels Castiel angrily gather himself behind her. Luckily, their movements are overshadowed by Dean jumping to his feet, approaching the demon as he tells him, "All right, you know what? I'm sick of this. Give him his soul back _now_."

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Dean shouts.

Shouting back, Crowley answers, "I won't, all right?! It's insurance."

"What are you talking about?"

"You kill demons," Crowley reminds him. Then gesturing with his eyes, he adds, "Gigantor over there has a temper issue about it." His eyes cut over in a gesture thrown Tabitha's way. "And if Charlie's Angel here glares any harder at me, she's gonna have to buy me dinner." He throws a dark grin her way as he tells her, "Or _be_ dinner."

Castiel's grip tightens even more to hold her back as the demon returns his focus to Dean.

"But you won't kill me…as long as I have that soul in the deposit box."

Realizing he'd been double-crossed, Bobby growls, "You son of a bitch."

"I'll return it," Crowley assures them. "After all this is over, and I can walk safely away." Voice rising to an angry pitch, the demon shouts, "Do we all understand each other?!"

Realizing she can't do anything about Bobby's decision, Tabitha growls in exasperation, "Men!" and stomps upstairs.

 

*************

 

Tabitha is still pacing in her room when Castiel opens her door, letting himself in without a word.

She spares a brief look at his quiet entrance, but her pacing doesn't slow as he stands just inside the door watching her.

"What the hell was he thinking?" she demands, tearing into the angel only because Bobby isn't in front of her and the angel is.

Not giving the angel time to respond, she demands, "Of all the stupid, harebrained ideas in the world. Why the hell would he do that?"

Tabitha suddenly stops in front of the angel, furiously demanding, "Why?!" when the angel doesn't answer her.

Realizing that she wants an answer to _this_ question, Castiel shrugs and reminds her, "I believe his decision is what humans call a last-ditch effort."

Annoyed by his answer, she growls, "Oh sure, you know human phrases when you want to point out something I already know and don't want to hear."

The angel shrugs unhelpfully in response, so Tabitha returns to her pacing.

"I've already lost one father," she suddenly reminds him, swiping furiously at errant tears, flexing and unflexing her hands at her sides. "I'm getting so sick of losing people. God, sometimes I think what I wouldn't give for a white-picket-fence, suburban life."

The angel doesn't answer, but when she hears him move through her room to stand at the window, she stops her pacing, her eyes trailing to rest on his back as he braces his hand on either side of the window frame and leans towards the glass.

"You should have that," he almost raggedly tells her. "You should have the safety and security of that life. I wish I had the power to give it to you. I don't even have the power to hide you. Or to remove you from the coming battle. I have nothing. I'm _useless_."

Hearing the last word snarled in such a low and viscous tone draws Tabitha closer, pushing away her own fears and worries for Bobby as she focuses on soothing Castiel. She can't help the older hunter right now, but she can damn sure make the angel see that he's far from useless.

"You're not useless," she consoles, reaching out with one hand to comfortingly rub the angel's shoulder.

With a savage snarl, Castiel knocks her hand away, turning and spinning away from her before he stands to face her again.

"I'm _useless_ ," he snaps. "What good am I in the battle to come? What can I do now that my power has dwindled to _nothing_? I'm not even as much help as another human would be because I don't know how to _be_ a human."

Tabitha's heart beats rapidly as she stands staring in shock at the angel for a few moments, supremely surprised by the virulence of his anger.

After a moment of staring into her eyes, Castiel once again turns away from her, moving down to brace his hands against the window frame of the window further down the wall from where she stands.

For a few moments, Tabitha stands still, forcing her breathing to even out again as she considers his words and self-hatred.

"That's bullshit, Cas," she finally tells him.

His head tips in surprise, and he even glances slightly over his shoulder at her before turning back to the window.

Not put off by his lack of response, Tabitha goes on, "You are _not_ useless, Cas. So don't even think it. You mean…You do more to keep me going than you can possibly understand. You give me hope, that if we can win this thing…that there might actually be something worth _living for_ at the end of all this."

He doesn't respond, only the tightening of his shoulders belies his stony façade.

With a deep breath, Tabitha steps forward again, sliding both arms around the angel's waist as she presses her cheek to one of his shoulder blades.

Though one of his hands settles warmly over hers at his stomach, his voice is stony as he maintains in an anguished whisper, "I'm useless to you."

Shaking her head without removing it from his back, she assures him, "You're far from it. That's just fear talking. What we're doing now, going up against the Devil and Death himself…it would terrify anyone. You're no different just because you're an angel."

Though she can't see it, she feels Castiel's hand pause to finger the angel wing pendant on her bracelet, and she shivers at the inexplicable feeling the suddenly pulses through her.

She nearly misses him whisper, "I am hardly an angel now."

Suddenly guilt-ridden, she regretfully whispers, "You never should have wasted all of your Grace on me. You should have kept if for yourself. Stayed strong."

Castiel carefully extracts himself from her grip, turning to face her as he stares down at her with a frown. "Most of my Grace withered at being cut off from Heaven," he assures her. "I only managed to siphon a fraction of it into your talisman. And if it has kept you strong enough to survive this long, it was _not_ a waste."

"And you are _not_ useless," she hurries to assure him, hands clutching his lapels to keep him from retreating.

"I don't know how to be useful as a human," he reminds her, shoulders slumping a bit in dejection.

Suddenly laughing at the absurdity of it all, Tabitha assures him, " _None_ of us do. You just do your best when and where you can. And try to make up for the mistakes you make along the way."

Shaking him by the lapels a bit, she reminds him, " _You_ helped get Pestilence's ring. That's three down with only one more to go. You're far from useless. And when we get that last ring, we can shove the Devil back in his hole. Then it'll finally be _done_. No more Horsemen. Nor more Devil. No more Apocalypse."

"Part of me finds it hard to believe the Apocalypse can ever be stopped," he admits, eyes fixed on the floor. When his head tips up, he stares at her while continuing, "But when you look into my eyes and tell me it can happen, I almost believe that _anything_ can happen."

"It _will_ ," she reassures him. "We've come too far and lost too much already. We've _both_ sacrificed a lot to get to this point. I won't accept anything less than success at this point. Even if not for me…"

She hadn't meant to say the last part, she'd been thinking to herself that it was probably too late already for her, but that she'd damn well fight to give her brothers a chance.

Castiel seems to for once know exactly what she means, reaching up to gently brush the hair back from her face as he tells her, "I'm sorry."

With a watery smile, she assures him, "Lucifer's mark? Not your fault. That's on me."

"But the effects my Grace has had on you…" he reminds her.

Wondering if it's a sign of the fate she's accepted, she tells him, "That wasn't your intention. You were trying to protect me. I already forgave you for that."

Unbidden, memories of her torture in Heaven flash in her mind, reminding her of what she has in store for her, even if they "win" and shove the Devil back in his cage. She'll still be out one peaceful afterlife. Only the unending pain and torture from every angel out for her blood to look forward to. That's _if_ she makes it to Heaven. But she doubts Hell would be any kind of spa vacation for her either.

She almost swears she can hear Azrael whispering in her mind, reminding her that there's another choice. That if she says "yes" there won't be any endless torture. No pain. There won't in fact be…anything.

The fear of what she knows is in store for her makes that offer almost unbearable to ignore.

Then, a flash of the possible future her brothers might have one day, shores up her resolve once more. Just a flash, but in it she'd seen the possibilities of their futures. Where they were happy. Where they'd each fallen in love and married. Where they'd grown old surround by their families and children. Where they'd had everything she'd ever wanted for them.

In that moment, she knows she'd endure anything for them to have that future.

Hands sliding to Castiel's neck, she begs him, "Promise me. Promise me that when this is all over, that it _stays_ over. That you make sure my brothers are happy. That you make sure they can have the lives they deserve."

"Tabitha?" he raggedly whispers, question in his eyes and on his lips.

"You don't think you can be useful, but you are. And you can promise me you'll do this for me. Please. Promise me," she begs.

"I promise," he solemnly vows. "I'll ensure this for you. No matter what it takes."

He suddenly yanks her body into his, their hips colliding with painfully delicious force. "I will find a way to right the wrong I've done you. I will fix—"

She stops him with a hand covering his lips. "No. I accept what's happened to me, Cas. Someone's going to have to pay a price for this to be done. Probably a lot of other humans, too," she admits. "I can accept that. As long as I know that this will work in the end and that my brothers are safe. They come first. You promised me. They come first."

Desperation drives her. Some inner knowledge that their time is slipping away like the last sands in an hourglass.

With hurried, frenzied movements, she drags his mouth down to hers, sealing her lips against his, determined to savor every sensation. His lips are rough under hers, and just as she reminds herself that he's recently been injured, he slides his hands down her thighs, lifting her and carrying her to the bed.

He bends to lower her onto the unmade bed, her hands shoving his outer layers over his shoulders even before he sets her down. Only when forced to yank his tie over his head does he pull away, and Tabitha takes the opportunity to gather the hem of her own shirts, peeling them up over her head.

Castiel returns to her as soon as she discards her heavy flannel shirt and tank top, the cold air making her shiver under his scrutiny, or perhaps it's the hunger in his gaze. The lower half of his clothes remain as he kneels on the bed, straddling one of her legs as he unzips her jeans and tugs them down her legs, discarding them and then quickly following suit with her underwear.

She tries to sit up to reach for his shoulders, but he suddenly grips her hips, tugging her down the bed and keeping her off balance as he bends over, his lips dragging across her stomach.

"Cas," she moans when his tongue swirls around and then dips into her bellybutton, causing her to suck in a deep breath.

His lips caress further south, and she can only watch as he scoots further down the bed, placing light kisses along the way, first up one inner thigh, and then down the other.

With hands fisted in her pillow and against her headboard, she watches as he descends between her legs, forcing a guttural moan from her lips before she remembers where they are and bites her lower lip to stifle any louder sounds.

Just like with her bellybutton, his tongue swirls around her before delving into her, tasting everything she has to offer. When her hips would have lifted off the bed with the waves of pleasure coursing up her spine, he lays one arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her down under his ministrations.

Higher and higher he takes her, until she's thrashing under his arm, moaning wordlessly, and gnawing on her lower lip to keep from screaming to the heavens.

Suddenly, he stops, and while part of her wants to childishly stomp her foot and demand he finish her, another part of her wants more than just his mouth. Deciding that what she wants more is to draw this out, to have him join her in completion, she closes her eyes, breath coming in shallow pants as she tries to regain some semblance of control.

When she opens her eyes to look down at him again, she finds that he's moved silently up the bed, lying partly on his side beside her, one of his hands still placing feathery caresses on her inner thigh. Hypersensitive to even the slightest touch, she spasms under his fingers, her breath catching again.

She tries to reach for him, but his long fingers slide down her thigh, dipping into her and thereby halting any coherent thoughts or movements as her breath instantly returns to sharp pants.

"Why me?" he whispers, his head dipping to her exposed throat, the soft words breathed against the delicate column of her skin.

Her mind struggles to assimilate the words in the midst of the pleasure that had subsided only to rebuild in a crescendo.

"What?" she gulps, tilting her head back more into her pillow, letting him have full access to the tender skin of her neck.

"Why me?" he repeats in a throaty growl, teeth dragging across her skin, vibrating with his low words as he asks, "Why me? When you could have a human that would give you what you deserve. Why me?"

His hands still again, letting her slip back from the edge once more. She swallows heavily as her mind begins to have more complex thoughts than _now, more, please_.

When her eyes open to look at him, she's momentarily startled by the absolute sincerity and doubt in his gaze. His absolute confusion.

Her hands reach out to cup his face, only slightly shaking from the sensations still pulsing through her body.

"Because you're _you_ ," she assures him with absoluteness. "I don't want anyone else. There _is_ no one else. You're the only one that fights and argues with me, but still stands by my side through it all. You know all of me. The good…and all the bad. And you still want _me_. I think that astounds me more than it does you. I keep expecting you to realize one day that you're an angel and I'm such a flawed mess of a human. But you see that flawed mess. And you don't run. You don't try to change me. You let me be _me_. And make me feel like I don't have to apologize for all my mistakes. And I know there's many."

She lets her thumbs sweep back and forth across his cheeks, smiling at the way his eyes drift shut to savor that simple touch.

"Even when I hurt you," she continues, "even when you hurt _me_. You don't make me feel lesser for my faults. You make me feel like there's nothing I can't overcome. Nothing I can't do. No matter how hard and devastating it will be. I'm still happier with you than I could possibly deserve."

As her words trail off, she pushes lightly at his chest, pressing him onto his back and tugging his pants down. He eagerly lifts his hips to accommodate her.

Yet, as soon as he's free, he grips her hips again, pulling and twisting quickly with her until he has her tucked underneath himself again. As he kneels between her thighs, he bends down to brace his hands on either side of her head.

Staring down at her in wonder, he tells her, "I spent many days watching you in the years I was tasked as your guardian. No other human had ever intrigued me as you do. I asked one of my brothers why I was drawn to you, why I felt the need to somehow be near you. And when he watched you…he said…he said you were like a light. Brighter than any other human. More full of…lifethan any other."

He lifts one hand to brush a few sweaty strands of hair from her cheek. "I did not understand his words at first. I-I did not understand how one human could be more full of life than any other living human."

With a contented sigh, he bends down to brush his lips across hers, the touch almost chaste. But with one strong thrust of leverage, he slides into her. She gasps and bites his upper lip in reaction, lifting her knees and arching her back when he doesn't move any further.

Again, he pulls his lips from hers, staring down once more as he continues speaking, as though their bodies weren't so intimately joined.

"After I revealed myself to your brother…after I first spoke to you that night on Bobby's porch…I came to understand his words. You spoke to me as if I was any other human. You talked to me. Eventually, you came to laugh even. At me, I think, but when I first heard that sound, I understood my brother's words. Because you made _me_ feel alive. All the millennia I'd seen, and I'd never once felt as alive as I did then. You made me feel like I could have been an ordinary human. And yet, you made me feel like I was special as well. That I was not just another of my Heavenly brothers and sisters. Like I mattered to _you_. After all those millennia of simply _being_ , I finally felt alive. Because you were so full of life, you breathed some into me."

Tears gather in the corner of her eyes, and she slides her hands to the nape of his neck, trying to bring his lips down to hers. In response, he bucks strongly against her, pulling his hips back and thrusting forward in three sharp movements before settling into a more sedate pace.

He'd brought her to the edge and backed her down several times now, but once more, he builds her up again. Her legs raise higher, ankles wrapping around him as she locks her legs at his hips and pushes back against each of his thrusts, drawing a strangled moan out of him with each stride.

Not slowing this time, he lifts one hand to gently trace a fingertip around the outside of her mouth, around the corners of her eyes. Reverently, he tells her, "It was your laughter. Your smile. Your kindness. Even your anger. Every emotion is to the fullest. I was entranced by it all. So full of life, enough even to breathe life into an angel. To make me _live_."

She struggles against him briefly for dominance, trying to push him over so she can take control, but he holds her in place, increasing his thrusts with a frantic desperation. So she settles for raking her fingers up his back, delighting in the way his back arches under her touch, her own back arching upwards to follow him, greedy for contact with his skin.

He begins moaning in Enochian, as he often does as he nears his end, his muscles taut against her as he quickens his pace even more, struggling to hold out a little longer.

His head dips into the crook of her neck again, his breath hot and heavy against her sweat-slick skin as he growls with a pleading desperation, "Say my name. Say it."

"Castiel," she obligingly moans, arching into him one last time, and finally falling over the edge he'd brought her to and backed her off from several times.

Head thrown back, he shouts in Enochian, slamming into her one last time before he collapses bonelessly against her.

As she holds him against her chest, hands smoothing up and down his slick back, she has the strangest sensation of this being the last time. Whatever is coming, something tells her she may never hold him this way again, so she wraps her arms more tightly around him, pulling him into her body and holding him there like she won't ever have to let him go.

 

***************

 

Tabitha leans against the side of Bobby's van, her gear bag at her feet as she waits for her brothers.

Castiel stands nearby, pacing aimlessly around Bobby's garage as he frowns down at the sawed-off shotgun Tabitha had given him earlier.

Bobby pushes his wheelchair closer, pausing to inspect the bag in his lap as he notices the angel's dismal state.

Obviously irritated, Bobby demands, "What's _your_ problem?"

Stopping, Castiel asks the man, "This is what they mean by 'The 11th Hour,' right?"

"Pretty much," Bobby agrees, turning back to his bag.

Darkly, the angel comments, "Well, it's the 11th hour, and I am useless." Bobby pauses to look up as Castiel gestures to the gun Tabitha had given him. "All I have is this. What am I even supposed to do with it?"

Still annoyed, Bobby responds, "Point it and shoot."

"What I used to be—" Castiel begins.

Tabitha opens her mouth to tell the angel once more to stuff it, annoyed with his hang up on what _was_ instead of focusing on what _is_ , but Bobby beats her to the punch.

"Are you really gonna bitch—to _me_?"

Castiel finally glances at Bobby, and holds his tongue.

The older hunter wheels closer with an annoyed command, telling the angel, "Quit pining for the Varsity years…" He tosses the bag in his lap at the angel, finishing with, "…and load the damn truck."

Holding the bag, Castiel looks over at Tabitha, as if for help. She watches Bobby wheel away before replying, "What? I agree with him. I thought you'd gotten over this earlier. Pull your head out of your ass and stop thinking you're useless. We can't change what happened. Only what we'll do _now_."

She picks up her bag and turns to face her approaching brothers.

Dean tosses his own bag into the trunk of the Impala as Sam tosses his into Bobby's van.

After learning that while Death would be in Chicago at the same time as Pestilence's time bomb of the Croatoan Virus would be shipped out as vaccines for the Swine Flu, the boys had decided to split up to deal with the threats. Bobby and Sam shutting down the shipment, and Dean going with Crowley to nab Death's ring.

Though it hadn't been spoken of, it was silently agreed that Castiel would go with Sam and Bobby, as he wouldn't have any power to be of use against Death.

No one had yet asked Tabitha where she was going.

"All right, well…" Dean trails off as he hesitantly steps away from the Impala. He pauses to finish telling Sam, "…good luck stopping the whole zombie apocalypse."

"Yeah," Sam softly agrees. "Good luck killing Death."

Almost dubiously, Dean grins and nods, "Yeah."

Scoffing, Sam reminisces, "Remember when we used to just…hunt wendigos? How simple things were?"

"Not really," Dean admits.

Sighing, Sam reaches towards his back, pulling out Ruby's knife and holding it between them, "Well, um…you might need this."

Before Dean can take the knife, Crowley slides beside where Tabitha stands between her brothers, holding a rusty old scythe out for Dean as he tells Sam, "Keep it. Dean's covered."

As Dean hesitantly takes it, Crowley expounds, "Death's own. Kills, golly, demons, and angels, and reapers, and, rumor has it, the very thing itself."

"Where in the hell did you get that?" Tabitha asks, torn between scorn and being impressed.

Crowley decides his own take on her tone, sidestepping closer to her as he grins in reply. "Impressive aren't I? You should see my other toys." He turns to encompass the other as he adds sardonically, "Hello—King of the Crossroads."

He looks back at Dean, saying, "So, shall we?" Not slowing, he turns to Bobby, asking, "Bobby, you just gonna sit there?"

Annoyed and confused, Bobby snarks, "No, I'm gonna Riverdance."

Looking at Tabitha the demon shrugs and replies, "I suppose if you want to impress the ladies."

"What are you going on about?" Tabitha huffs in annoyance.

The demon sighs theatrically as he scolds, "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Really wasted that crossroads deal. Fact—you get more if you phrase it properly. So, I took the liberty of adding a teeny little sub-A clause on your behalf.

"What?" Tabitha whispers in disbelief, hardly daring to believe what she thinks he's saying.

"What can I say," Crowley tells her, as if confiding a dirty little secret. "I'm an altruist."

Turning with a dramatic gesture towards the seated hunter, Crowley continues, "Just gonna sit there?"

As they watch, Bobby tentatively wiggles one foot, and then lifts it from the foot brace in the chair, moving more quickly as he stands with an amazed grin on his face.

"Son of a bitch," Bobby barely breathes.

Smugly, Crowley almost crows, "Yes, I know. Completely worth your soul. I'm a hell of a guy."

In a rough whisper, Tabitha gratefully admits, "If you weren't a skeevy slimeball, I could almost kiss you."

"Why let that stop you?" Crowley asks as if his query is perfectly reasonable.

"Thanks," Bobby whispers, his tone soft but heartfelt.

Sighing, Crowley answers in a bored tone, "This is getting maudlin." He turns next to Tabitha, extending his arm in a sweeping gesture towards the Impala. "What do you say, Charlie? Can we go?"

She does a double take at the strange name, but glances back and forth between her two brothers. She hates when they split up like this, forcing her to choose one or the other.

Heaving a sigh, she shoulders her bag again, stepping towards the car and irritably swatting the demon's "helping" hands away.

Standing near the car, she looks back to her brothers, both nodding grimly at her choice. Strangely, for once, neither argues with her decision, though she can see the dark frown spreading across the angel's face.

More for Castiel's benefit, she announces, "I think I should go with Dean on this. Three on each team this way. Well, two and one leech for us," she says, jerking her thumb over towards Crowley. "But Azrael's connected to Death, and something tells me I need to be there."

Crowley scowls at her, turning towards the car without another word. Dean nods once in goodbye to Sam, and follows suit.

Having more decorum than her traveling companions, she smiles grimly at Sam, Bobby, and Castiel, lightly imparting, "Well, see you all on the flip side."

In her mind, she sends to the angel, _Take care. And look after them for me._

As she climbs into the back seat, she looks out to see Castiel frowning at her, then mouthing, _Be careful_.

She spends the next several hours with the unsettling realization that Castiel has become so human, he no longer can speak to her in his true voice.

 

*******************

 

Crowley seems perfectly at ease strolling through the Chicago side streets in thirty-degree weather, but both Tabitha and Dean tug their jackets tighter around themselves as they go. The weather is unseasonably cold for spring. Air swirling with a frigid winter chill, but the sky looking as though it's preparing to open up and drop a hurricane of rainfall. A startling combination of predicted weather that has the locals all on edge.

Casually, the demon comments, "Hey, let's stop for pizza."

"Are you kidding?" Dean demands.

"Just heard it was good. That's all," the demon comments.

As they round the corner, Tabitha stops dead, sucking in a surprised inhale at the sight. Crowley throws a glance her way, and then explains to Dean, "Up ahead. Big, ugly building. Ground zero. Horseman's stable, if you will. He's in there."

"What is it, Tab?" Dean asks, looking back and forth between the building and the wide eyes of his sister.

"Reapers," she succinctly answers him, eyes darting around as she counts them all. "Lots of reapers. Don't know about Death, but I'm guessing he's here somewhere. Only other time I've seen them like this was in Carthage."

Dean swallows thickly at the reminder of the trip where they'd lost Ellen and Jo.

Crowley suddenly steps forward, telling them, "I'll be right back."

Only his eyes moving, Dean darts a look at Tabitha beside him, cynically commenting, "I still don't like that you can see those things."

"You and me both," she agrees, arms wrapping around herself to fight off the cold, a shiver working up her spine that has nothing to do with the frigid air.

Appearing behind them again, Crowley tells them, "Boy, is my face red." The Winchesters spin to face the demon as he indifferently adds, "Death's not in there."

"You want to cut the cute," Dean growls, fed up with the demon's antics.

"Yeah," Tabitha huffs, tossing a gesture towards the waiting reapers. "'Cause if he's not here, what are all of _them_ doing here?"

"I don't know," Crowley tells her. "Waiting for scores of people to die, I'd wager."

Rounding on the demon again, Dean orders, "Just get to the part where you tell us where he is."

"I'm sorry," Crowley answers, tone completely without actual apology. "I don't know."

When he turns to walk away, the Winchesters dash after him, Dean hurriedly demanding, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute." He grabs the demon by the shoulder to stop him, continuing, "You don't know?"

Looking a bit flustered now, the demon relents, "Signs pointed. I-I'm just as shocked as you."

"Bobby sold his soul for this!" Tabitha furiously points out, running after the demon when he takes off again.

Stopping, Crowley commands imperiously, "Relax, luv. All deals are soul back or store credit. We'll catch Death in the next doomed city."

"Millions, Crowley," Dean points out. "Millions of people are about to die any minute."

"True. So I strongly suggest we get out of here."

When the demon disappears again, Tabitha and Dean are left to huff in frustration.

"What the hell do we do?" Tabitha helplessly asks her brother.

"I don't know," he gruffly admits. Then wordlessly starts back in the direction they'd parked.

When they reach the car, Tabitha starts to climb into the passenger seat, but huffs in exasperation at the sight of the demon already plopped there. Instead, she chooses to sit in the back. Further away from the demon.

"So, what?" Dean asks the demon. "Call in a bomb threat? A thousand bomb threats? I mean, how the hell am I supposed to get three million people out of Chicago in the next ten minutes?"

Slumping into the back seat, Tabitha realistically replies, "We can't. There's no way to evacuate a city this size in that amount of time. Add in that kind of threat, and the resulting hysteria would do half the work."

Hearing Dean jerk around in the front seat, Tabitha opens her eyes and sits up straight, realizing the demon is gone. Again.

Rubbing her eyes, she growls in annoyance, "Okay, his in and out crap is getting more annoying than any of the crap Cas used to pull popping in and out."

Dean stops moving, seeming to spot something across the street. Sliding across the car, Tabitha sees the demon by a restaurant, mouthing something and pointing inside.

Shaking his head, Dean huffs in frustration, "What? I can't hear you!"

Reappearing in the car, Crowley calmly replies, "I said I found him." Pointing again, he goes on, "Death—he's in there."

Tabitha strains to look out the window again, but sees nothing that would have indicated the presence of the Horseman. No reapers. No commotion. No…well, dead people.

With measured, deliberate movements, both Winchesters climb out the car. Dean stoops to press the demon, "You coming?" only to find him once more gone.

"Getting sick of that trick," Tabitha sighs, walking purposefully beside her brother across the street.

Creeping through the back door, Dean leads the way, Tabitha conceding to his lead only because he _does_ have the scythe.

Inside the back kitchen area, they finally see the sights that Tabitha had expected to surround Death. That is, lots of death. All of the wait staff and cooks, dropped dead in the middle of whatever they'd been doing. Even the patrons of the restaurant are slumped silently over their meals, some with food still hanging from their mouths.

One table near the front boasts a patron not face down in his plate. In fact, he sits facing the door, placidly watching the scurrying masses going by in the streets…while enjoying a slice of pizza.

Dean glances back at Tabitha as he approaches, telling her with his eyes to be careful as he holds the scythe at the ready. Tabitha raises her own machete, knowing it likely won't do any good, but thinking that a gun or knife probably won't either.

Suddenly, Dean halts, his hand shaking before dropping the scythe to the ground with a resounding thud. It nearly brings a startled gasp from his sister, who hadn't been expecting the loud noise.

"Thanks for returning that," a dry voice tells them as Dean shakes his hand with obvious pain.

Heart in her throat, Tabitha stoops to scoop up the scythe, but it disappears before she can reach it.

As they look up at the only person still upright in the restaurant, they spot the scythe lying placidly on the table next to the man's glass of water.

"Join me, Dean, Tabitha," the voice invites, as if asking them to Sunday tea.

The siblings share a questioning look. And as if to entice them, the man offers, "The pizza's delicious."

Wincing slightly at the worsening weather—thunder and lightning now joining the line-up—the siblings uneasily creep forward, edging carefully around the table of the man who has yet to even look back towards them. After giving the table a wide berth, they stand before the seated man.

"Sit down," he cordially offers, head down as he focuses on cutting up a slice of Chicago style deep-dish pizza.

With the unease of a mouse sitting down to eat with a lion, Tabitha and Dean lower themselves into the pair of chairs across from the man, Tabitha setting her machete within easy reach on the table.

"Took you long enough to find me," he tells them. "I've been wanting to talk with the pair of you."

Voice shaking only slightly, Dean replies, "I got to say—mixed feelings about that. S-so is this the part where…" he roughly clears his throat, "…where you kill us?"

The Horseman finally looks up, his face a mixture of stark lines, harsh bones, and an unremarkableness that somehow blends together in a terrifying, unforgettable fashion that somehow screams to Tabitha's mind that this is indeed the head man, the Papa Reaper.

Death gives them a bland stare before telling Dean, "You have an inflated sense of your importance. To a thing like me, things like the two of you, well…" he pauses to casually slurp water through his straw. "Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky."

Clearing her throat, Tabitha tries to differentially apologize. "W-we, ugh…we're sorry for…intruding."

Death pauses to give her a speculative glance before focusing on Dean again and explaining with the boredom of a parent explaining string-theory to a three-year-old, "This is one little planet in one tiny solar system. In a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you."

Following his callous explanation, he lifts a piece of pizza from the platter, politely offering it to Tabitha, saying, "Eat." And then dishing one likewise for Dean before sitting back and watching the pair stare at the plates before them.

Swallowing once past the lump in her throat, Tabitha pulls her plate closer.

Dean follows suit, picking up his knife and fork, carefully cutting a piece.

As if it were poison, Dean lifts the fork to his mouth and takes the small slice. Rolling her shoulders back as Dean chews, Tabitha picks up her slice, bringing it to her mouth and biting off a much larger piece.

"Good, isn't it?" Death inquires.

Around her mouthful, Tabitha replies, "Yes, very." Wincing when Dean kicks the side of her leg.

Unperturbed by his warning, she swallows and replies, "Chicago deep-dish is great, but if you like pizza, you gotta try some of the pizzas in New York. They have hands-down some of the best there is."

"Tab!" Dean hisses under his breath, aiming a much harder kick at her shin.

" _What!?_ " she hisses back. Under her breath adding for his benefit, "He's freakin' Death. If he wanted to kill us, we'd be _dead_ right now. And I don't much like cowering and sniveling even if he _is_ going to kill us."

It might have been the flashes of lightning from outside behind them, but Tabitha almost thinks she sees the corner of Death's mouth twitch. Though he still looks at her as if she's no more than a bug that he could squish under his heel. Still she gets the sensation that he looks at her with a sort of fondness. Sort of like when one sees a fly helplessly buzzing across the top of water in circles, trying futilely to achieve liftoff.

When Death returns to eating his own slice, Dean finally inquires, "Well, I gotta ask. How old are you?"

Tabitha frowns at her brother, thinking he'd been _way_ ruder than anything _she_ said.

If Death is perturbed by it, it doesn't show. Head down as he slices his pizza he casually comments, "As old as God." Then pauses to concede, "Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death, chicken, egg. Regardless—at the end, I'll reap him, too."

Flabbergasted, Dean repeats, "God? You'll reap God?"

"Oh, yes," Death replies, finally looking up again. No humor or fondness on his face now. Only sheer absoluteness. "God will die, too, Dean."

Appetite gone, Tabitha sets her slice down, whispering to her brother, "Get the feeling that we're like little kids getting a peek behind the curtain of a magic show?"

He nods once, commenting, "Well, this is way above our pay grade."

"Just a bit," Death blandly agrees.

Hesitating, Dean seems compelled to ask, "So, then why are we still breathing, sitting here with you? Uh…w-what do you want?"

The first real emotion creeps into Death's voice as he heatedly returns, "The leash around my neck—off." Flashes of lightning cast the hollows of the Horseman's eyes and cheeks alternatively in shadow and bright light, lending to his eerie appearance as he explains to them, "Lucifer has me bound to him. Some unseemly little spell. He has me where he wants, when he wants. That's why I couldn't go to either of _you_. I had to wait for the two of _you_ to catch up. He made me his weapon. Hurricanes, floods, raising the dead. I'm more powerful than you can process, and I'm enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum."

"And you think…I- _we_ can unbind you?" Dean incredulously asks.

Irked, Death responds, "There's your ridiculous bravado again. Of course neither of you can. But you can help me take the bullets out of Lucifer's gun." With a soft clatter, he sets his silverware down, displaying the back of his hand, and the ring prominent on his right ring finger. "I understand you want this."

Glancing at the ring, Dean hesitantly admits, "Yeah."

"I'm inclined to give it to you," Death responds.

Shocked, Dean repeats, "To give it to me?"

"That's what I said."

"What about…Chicago?" Dean wonders.

Thunder claps loudly outside as Death stares at them. In a reasonable tone, he tells them, "I suppose it can stay. I like the pizza." He glances serenely at Tabitha telling her, "Though I'll be certain to try the pizza in New York as well. Thank you for the suggestion."

Wonder whether or not it was a good idea to send the Horseman to such a huge mega city for food, she nods grimly and responds, "Yeah. Ah-of course."

Unceremoniously, Death removes his ring, then keeping his hold on it, explains, "There are conditions.

"Such as?" Tabitha asks.

"The two of you have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell."

"Of course," Dean immediately agrees.

Tabitha nods as well. "We were already planning on that."

The Horseman stresses however, " _Whatever_ it takes."

Not understanding his direness, Dean repeats, "That's the plan."

Shaking his head minutely, Death argues, "No. No plan. Not yet. Your brother. He's the one that can stop Lucifer. The _only_ one."

Drawing in a sharp inhale, and not pausing to consider the intelligence of her refusal, she vehemently, denies, "No. He's not doing it. I won't…we won't let him."

Death gives her a dark look as Dean slowly asks, "What, you think—"

"I know," Death responds to Dean, then turns back to Tabitha, sharply telling her, "You're going to have to make a decision. An entire world? Or your brother? Can't have both."

He looks between the pair of siblings, telling them, "So, I need a promise. The two of you are going to let you brother jump right into that fiery pit."

Ominously, Death offers the ring across the table, asking, "Well, do I have your word?"

After a lengthy moment, Dean agrees, "Okay, yeah. Yes." Drawing a dark look from his sister that he ignores, and then he holds out his upturned palm for the ring, waiting for Death to release it into his waiting hand.

Death hesitates, balefully warning, "That had better be 'Yes,' Dean. You know you can't cheat Death."

He releases the ring into Dean's shaking hand, and as if a flip had been switched, the stormy weather outside ceases.

As Dean stares at the ring, Death offers, "Now, would you like the instruction manual?"

With uneasiness, Dean and Tabitha both lean forward as Death helps them plot their new terrifying plan. Spending the next hour describing each step they need to take.

When Tabitha and Dean move to leave the restaurant, Death calls out to Tabitha, forcing her to pause in following her brother out the front door onto the street.

"Ask your question," he mundanely directs, cutting up yet another slice of pizza.

Swallowing thickly, and turning to see if Dean's noticed her absence yet, she seizes her opportunity, asking timidly, "Can she do it? Can she really do everything she says?"

She holds her breath as she awaits his answer, too scared almost to contemplate what it will be. Only wondering to herself, when the sky falls, will she crumble, or will she stand tall?

He doesn't ask who. But tilts his head slightly to the side as he regards her. "I trained Azrael myself. She works closely with my reapers. And yes, she _can_ end this universe if she so chooses. God gave her that power. Through _you_."

The feeling that the world is crumbling swells in her chest with his words. Mouth feeling stuffed with sawdust, and palms suddenly sweating as she wipes them on her thighs, she presses, "She can _really_ do it? Really wipe out it all?"

Though she thought he might be annoyed by repeating the question, he leans forward over the table, pinning her under his stare as he meaningfully stresses to her, "Once in her vessel—you—she can kill anything. _Any_ …single…thing…in this universe."

From the corner of her eye, she can see Dean striding back down the sidewalk for her. So she pushes aside the nausea she feels to ask one last question.

"What do I do?"

Attention turning back to his plate, Death tells her in a bored tone, "When the time comes…you'll know." He glances up to pin her with a last stare. "You have your own decision to make, but don't forget that you can't make your brothers' decisions _for_ them."

His answers and warnings ring in her mind as Dean reaches inside to pull her out with him. Numbly following him as he hustles her down the street.

You can't make your brothers' decisions for _them_ , echoes in her mind.

Squaring her jaw in determination, she thinks to herself, _Let the sky fall. We will stand tall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for continuing to hang in there. Work with the new job has been going extremely well. Just moving very very fast. After being with them for two months, I’ve already been promoted to assistant manager, so I’m trying to jump into my new position and schedule. It’s just been a lot going on at the moment. But I am still writing this story. Please hang in there with me. And a millions thanks for all the wonderful reviews!


	19. Chapter 19: This Is Our Last Goodbye

**Chapter 19: This Is Our Last Goodbye**

 

_On July 25, 1971, a silver bracelet was found near Clear Lake, South Dakota. It seemed like an unremarkable piece of jewelry. But it wasn't._

_The man who found it seemed like an unremarkable man. But neither was he._

_In fact, that silver bracelet_ _—_ _already affixed with a few charms_ _—_ _would become one of the most important pieces of jewelry_ _…_ _no, the most important belonging_ _…_ _for the woman who would help her brothers change the course of destiny._

_You see, while two brothers would be able to change the very course of fate_ _—_ _thanks in no small part to the immense importance of one single car_ _—_ _it was one woman who actually made it possible for them to do so in the first place. And one single piece of jewelry that made it all possible for_ her _._

_Sure, maybe it's stereotypical for a car to be so important to guys while a piece of jewelry is so important to a woman, but hey, stereotypes became stereotypes for a reason. So back off._

_Anyway, this bracelet was found by chance. Found by a man that had just finished a hunt. Not deer or anything like that mind you, but a nest of vampires. This hunter just happened to see the silver bracelet glinting in the dirt near the back tire of his station wagon. And he just happened to need a gift for his daughter's 17th birthday. Which also just so happened to be the next day. Deciding that he couldn't let a fourth year go by forgetting to find her a real present, the man felt he was just in luck._

_He didn't know what most of the charms were for_ _—_ _or even where the bracelet had come from_ _—_ _but he decided that the black jeweled cross on it was enough to satisfy his hunter's instincts. And that the other strangely stylized charms were pretty enough to convince his daughter that he didn't think only about hunting. Neither would ever realize that those charms were far more powerful than they were pretty._

_Mary Campbell treasured that bracelet as the most thoughtful gift her father had ever given her. And her daughter treasured it even more after Mary died and it became hers._

_In the years Tabitha owned the bracelet, she added to the modest collection of charms. Some held magical properties, others didn't. But her favorites weren't the ones she'd acquired for herself, or even the originals, but rather the ones that had been given to her._

_When he was 11 years old, Sam bought her the pizza slice charm on her bracelet. She was chagrined to realize he bought it for her because he thought take-out pizza was the best meal she could make. It was many years before she mastered cooking. Well, a few dishes anyway._

_Try as she would to forget why he chose that particular charm, the reason he bought her one at all was something she'd never forgotten. And probably never would._

_It was after a fight that Sam had gotten into which left him bloody. But she'd let him fight his own battle when he'd asked her to stay out of it. And she'd smiled confidently when he'd looked so proud of himself, even though he'd lost badly. And despite the fact that she'd cried herself to sleep that night after cleaning and bandaging his cuts, she loved that charm for reminding her of that proud smile on his 11-year-old face._

_And just as much as that silly pizza slice charm, she loved the four-leaf clover charm Dean had given her one day when she was sixteen, out of the clear blue. She'd loved the unexpected generosity of her older brother. Proving that even when he could be a jerk, he'd go out of his way to brighten her day because she was feeling blue._

_Dean had actually bought the charm for her when he'd felt guilty about scaring off a guy that had asked her to the drive-in movies by telling the kid that she was actually a lesbian that despised men. When the kid hadn't seemed convinced or scared off by Dean's words, Dean had informed the boy that while his sister wasn't interested,_ he _sure was, and hit on the poor kid until he ran for the hills. After Tabitha had been so down over being stood up with no explanation, Dean had gotten her the charm to help her improve her "luck."_

_Tabitha doesn't know that story, but I'm sure looking back, she'd get a kick out of the lengths her brother had gone to to chase her would-be suitor off when he didn't measure up in Dean's eyes._

_The revolver charm from Cort was another favorite of hers, reminding her of a different life she might have had, and the choice that she never made._

_But her favorite, had secretly become the angel wing charm she'd accepted, reminding her of a choice she_ did _make_. _And all the good and all the bad that came with it._

_She appreciated all the benefits the other charms gave her in protecting her, but it was those few that really mattered. Those few that she really loved._

_More than just about anything in the world._

_And love_ _…_ _isn't that what it really all boils down to?_

 

******************

 

"You figure out yet what this charm does?" Sam asks, tugging on the Fleur-de-lis charm on her bracelet.

Tabitha glances away from the other charms she'd been contemplating before dropping her hands and ruffling her brother's hair as he reclines sideways on the hood of the Impala, his head on her thigh as he sips his beer.

"Nope," she replies, not seeming all that concerned, and then going back to leaning against the windshield. "Momma Cecile made it herself, I guess. So that's saying something. Don't know what all the voodoo symbols on it mean, either, but it's supposed to help. And she sent a message saying to trust my heart. Or something. Whatever that means."

Tabitha shrugs off the questioning look from her brother and goes back to messaging his scalp while sipping her own beer. She'd already wasted enough hours contemplating the charm and cryptic message she'd received from the old voodoo priestess after Lucifer had marked her. She'd come to no conclusions, so she had quit thinking about it. Deciding that the best course of action was no course of action where the charm and her message were concerned.

Hearing their older brother approach, they both turn and offer quiet "Hey's" as Dean snags a beer from the cooler and leans against the Impala next to them.

When Dean doesn't speak, Sam sits up straighter, scooting up to sit beside Tabitha as he curiously asks, "Dean? What's going on?"

Sighing, Dean heavily replies, "I'm in."

"In with…?" Sam wonders in confusion.

"The whole 'up with Satan' thing. I'm on board."

As Sam swings his legs over the side of the hood, Tabitha twists, pulling her legs underneath herself to sit Indian-style as she stares at their older brother, shocked by his proclamation. Throughout the entire drive back from Chicago, he'd maintained that they were going to figure out a way around their promise to Death. That they'd find another way.

She'd remained silent then.

She remains silent now.

"You're gonna let me say 'yes?'" Sam dubiously questions. He twists to look over his shoulder at her, likewise questioning, "You're _both_ gonna let me say 'yes?'"

Dean replies first. "No. That's the thing. It's not on me to _let_ you do anything. You're a grown—well, _overgrown_ —man. If this is what you want, I'll back your play."

Exhaling heavily, Sam admits, "That's the last thing I thought you'd ever say."

"Might be."

After a light chuckle from Sam, Dean continues, "I'm not gonna lie to you, though. It goes against ever fiber I got. I mean, truth is…you know, watching out for you…the _both_ of you…it's kinda been my job, you know? But more than that, it's…it's kinda who I am. You're not a kid anymore, Sam, I'm probably better at accepting that with Tab most of the time, but you're not a kid either, and I can't keep treating either of you like one. Maybe _I_ got to grow up a little, too." He pauses to inhale before telling them, "I don't know if we got a snowball's chance. But…but I do know that if anybody can do it…it's you, Sam."

Sam twists to stare questioningly at Tabitha, waiting for her to speak or argue against Dean.

Exhaling, and looking down to fiddle with her bracelet, hoping to hide the tears in her eyes, Tabitha thinks of her brothers. Thinks of them about to embark on the decision for Sam to say "yes." Thinks about what might…or _will_ happen, if they both say "yes" and the Celebrity Death-Match ensues.

She even thinks about Azrael, knowing that strangely enough, the angel might be the only one who can truly sympathize with her at the moment. And then she remembers that just by saying "yes" _herself_ , she can spare the coming fight between her brothers. She can spare it all.

But Sam seems desperate to try to shove the Jack back in the box…and now, even Dean seems willing to give it a try.

With a little sniffle, she swipes at a stray tear, finally making her own decision.

"No matter what, I'm not giving up on you guys. I've said it before," she passionately promises, "and I'll say it again: No matter what it takes, I'll back your guys' play. With everything I've got."

Sam glances between them before exhaling gratefully, "Thank you."

"If this is what you want…" Dean begins, trailing off to affirm, "Is this _really_ what you want?"

Inhaling, Sam assures them, "I let him out. I got to put him back in."

"Okay," Dean agrees. "That's it, then."

Slumping back against the windshield again, Tabitha bleakly agrees, "Yeah, that's it."

 

*******************

 

Tabitha files out of the decrepit warehouse last, standing in the doorway as she watches Castiel and Sam load the gallons of demon blood into the trunk while Dean wipes the last of the blood from Ruby's knife.

She'd barely been able to stomach what they'd had to do. Having to catch, kill, and drain demons. Just for their blood. Somehow, the whole thing has left her feeling dirtier than some of their worst jobs.

"It had to be done. Your brother will need every drop of that blood if he hopes to overpower Lucifer," Castiel assures her.

She shakes herself, blinking to focus her eyes on the form of the fallen angel standing a few steps down from her, staring up at her with a consoling look. Glancing to make sure Sam has trailed after Dean and out of earshot, she tells the angel, "I know. I know. It still sickens me though. Not just having to kill and drain those demons like that. But that my baby brother is going to have to…" She trails off, flicking a gesture towards the now closed trunk.

When Castiel holds his hand out towards her, she carefully descends the rickety wooden stairs, placing her hand in his as he reminds her, "We make what sacrifices we must."

"I know," she breathes, eyes flicking to the wing pendant on her bracelet at the reminder of sacrifices made. And those yet to come.

Staring down at her hand in the fallen angel's, she suddenly wonders aloud, "I used to think that God was watching out for us. No matter how bad things got, I used to think that he didn't give us more than we could handle. Or take from us more than we could withstand. I'm not so sure any more."

"I used to believe much the same of my Father," Castiel admits in a rough, rumbling voice. "Now, I only wonder how much more he will take from me."

His desperate words yank her eyes up, forcing her to note the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of stress across his forehead, and the hollows of his cheeks. How utterly…human, he now appears.

"I'm sorry," she replies, apologizing for her part in his weakened state, squeezing his hand once before turning and striding closer to where Dean stands talking with Bobby.

As she approaches, she hears Bobby ask, "These look like omens to you?"

Dean takes the newspaper, scanning the headlines as Bobby continues. "Cyclone in Florida, temperature drop in Detroit, wildfires in L.A."

"Wait. What about Detroit?" Dean interrupts, twisting to share a dark look with Tabitha as she slides closer to look as well.

"Temp's dropped about 20 degrees, but only in a five-block radius of downtown Motown," Bobby blithely continues, oblivious to Dean and Tabitha's shared frowns.

"That's the one," Dean informs Bobby, tossing down the paper in the back of Bobby's van.

"Really?" Bobby skeptically questions. "As far as foreboding goes, it's a little light in the loafers. You sure?"

"Yeah, we're sure," Tabitha affirms, wrapping her arms around herself at the memory of Lucifer in their brother on their future field trip months back.

 

***************

 

Somehow, hours later, Tabitha and Castiel had both ended up in the backseat of the Impala together. Besides the car being a more comfortable ride, Tabitha had wanted to spend whatever time she could with her brothers in the Impala.

No one had thought to question why the angel chose to ride with the Winchesters instead of with Bobby.

Tabitha had been propped up in the corner of her seat, head leaning against the side of the car, but at some point, Castiel had slumped sideways against her, sliding until he was curled up against her, his head resting in her lap as he softly snored.

Glancing over his shoulder and thinking them both asleep, Dean jokingly comments, "Aw. Ain't he a little angel?"

Sam glances into the backseat before bleakly reminding Dean, "Angels don't sleep."

After a few unsettling moments, the soft static of the radio changes, and the soft lyrics of Bryan Adams fills the car, causing Tabitha's hands to momentarily stiffen where she'd been running them soothingly through the angel's hair.

As she listens to the melody, she thinks of how human her angel has become. How much of his Grace and strength he's lost…given to _her_ …trying to protect her. She thinks of everything he's lost…all because she loves him, and because she can't seem to let him go. Even if perhaps he'd be better off away from her.

Singing quietly to the chorus, she whispers, "Please forgive me‒I know not what I do. Please forgive me‒I can't stop lovin' you."

After a suspicious sniffle from the front seat, Dean reaches forward to shut the radio off, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes as he tries to gauge if their sister is still asleep.

Seeming satisfied, he turns back to the road.

Ominously, Dean confides, "Sam, I got a bad feeling about this."

After glancing likewise at their sister, and seeming satisfied with what he sees, Sam acknowledges, "Well, you'd be nuts to have a _good_ feeling about it."

"You know what I mean." He clarifies then, "Detroit. He always said he'd jump your bones in Detroit. Here we are."

"Here we are," Sam concurs.

"Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet, you know? Maybe he knows something we don't."

Chuckling, Sam replies, "Dean, I'm sure he knows a _buttload_ we don't. We just got to hope he doesn't know about the rings."

After a few anxious minutes, Sam haltingly begins, "Hey, um…on the subject, there's something I got to talk to you about."

"What?" Dean questions, his tone short and clipped.

"This thing goes our way and I…triple Lindy into that box…y-you know I'm not coming back."

After a slight hesitation, Dean concedes, "Yeah, I'm aware."

"So you got to promise me something."

"Okay. Yeah. Anything."

"You got to promise that neither of you is going to try to bring me back."

With a tone of incredulity, Dean demands, "What?" Then angrily continues, "No, I didn't sign up for that. Neither did Tab."

"Dean—"

Cutting off his argument, Dean snaps, "Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland. Y-you want us to just sit by and do nothing?"

"Once the cage is shut, you guys _can't_ go poking at it, Dean. It's too risky," Sam argues.

"No, no, no, no, no. As if we're just gonna let you rot in there."

"Yeah, you are. You guys don't have a choice."

"You can't ask us to do this. You know Tab will never stand for this either," Dean argues, glancing over his shoulder into the backseat.

Tabitha considers opening her eyes and joining the argument…but something holds her back. Keeps her from taking Dean's side. From taking either side.

After checking on their sister, Dean lowers his voice and adds to Sam, "You can't ask either of us to do this. You can't ask _me_ to do this. And you can't do this to Tab. Not again, Sammy. You can't put her through this again. She's barely been keeping it together the past few months. And you _know_ it."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam sincerely but unyieldingly replies. "I don't want to do this to her, either. But I have to. You _have_ to."

"So what am I supposed to do? What's _Tabitha_ supposed to do, huh?"

Throatily, Sam replies, "You go find Lisa. You pray to god she's dumb enough to take you in, and you—you have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean. And you take Tabitha with you. You make sure she gets out of this life again. That she finally finds some kind of happiness. The kind she had before we dragged her back in. Promise me."

"That's really what you want?" Dean hesitantly asks.

"Yes," Sam whispers, voice steady and sure with conviction.

Tabitha doesn't open her eyes to see what Dean's response might be, and she certainly doesn't hear him verbally respond. But as she runs her fingers through her angel's hair, all she can think, is that with what she knows to be coming, how can life ever go back to what it once was?

The twinge in her heart tells her that there is no going back.

But she wonders if there's any way to move forward and have the future she wants either.

 

******************

 

Bobby strides back to the alley where the Winchesters wait alongside Castiel.

"Demons," Bobby breathlessly confirms to them when he's within earshot. "At least two dozen of them." He spreads his hands as he tells Dean, "You were right—something's up."

"More than something," Tabitha uneasily agrees, glancing back down the alley.

Dean nods in her direction, agreeing. "You're right," he tells her. Turning to the others, he says, "He's here. I know it."

When Dean steps around them, wordlessly heading to the trunk of the Impala, Bobby sighs, and then approaches Sam.

Voice tight, he tells the youngest Winchester, "I'll see you around, kid."

Struggling to retain his stoicism, Sam answers, "See you around."

Instead of watching their goodbyes any longer, Tabitha jerks away, stepping over to the front of the Impala, leaning down heavily onto the hood as she struggles to keep her frazzled emotions in check. When she hears someone approach behind her, sniffles before glancing over her shoulder.

"I know I have to let him do this," she whispers helplessly to Castiel, "but how am I supposed to wish for his success? How do I do that, when his success means an eternity of torment stuck in some hole with the Devil himself? Tell me, Cas, how do I hope for the success of this plan?"

"It's your brother's choice," he reminds her, not reaching out to touch her, but still moving to stand a little closer beside her at the hood of the car. "All you can do is honor his choice, and remember what he's doing is to save humanity. To save this whole planet."

Hardly daring to even whisper the words, she wonders aloud, "And what if he fails? What then? Am I just supposed to watch him and Adam duke it out, taking this planet with it? Just because Lucifer and Michael can't stop being dicks and get over their ridiculous sibling rivalry."

Castiel shakes his head, a frown spreading across his face as he looks down before slowly telling her, "You said once that the paradise my brothers promise at the end of this battle they seek was a manufactured joy. Unreal. Because there was no freedom. That freedom was _better_ than peace. That real joy comes with excruciating pain. That the deeper the pain, the more magnificent the joy. You said that freedom was what you wanted. That it was what I should _fight_ for. That you wanted that choice—that…freewill, rather than destiny. And this is your brother's choice. And I suppose, this is that excruciating pain you spoke of."

Reaching up, Tabitha threads one hand behind Castiel's neck, tugging him closer as she lifts to her toes, pressing her forehead against his. Whispering against his mouth, she pleads, "But what if I lose _everything_? Some…dark recess of my heart keeps warning me that I'm about to lose it all. That this is my last goodbye to everything I hold dear. What if I lose _everything_ I love? My brothers have been the whole world to me for my whole life. How do I survive losing it all now?"

"I've watched many humans," he assures her, his lips just brushing against hers as he raises a hand to brush his finger down her side. "You are stronger than any I have seen before. You _will_ survive." His last words are spoken like a promise, and sealed with a searing kiss as he closes the scant distance between their lips. His hand tightens on her hip as he drags her closer. But before she can even begin to savor the heated exchange, he pulls away, releasing her. Then he steps with determination towards Sam, no doubt intending to say his own goodbyes now that the older hunter has stepped away from her younger brother.

Following that thought, she looks around curiously for the surrogate father figure to the Winchesters, realizing that he's the only one she can't either see or hear.

With a frown in the direction of the rummaging still coming from Dean standing at the trunk opposite from her, she turns around to gather her bag from the back of the Impala. Her breath is cut off as she nearly runs into Bobby's chest, her hand flying to her suddenly thumping heart.

"Jesus, Bobby," she groans, willing her heart to settle into a normal rhythm again. "'Bout gave me a heart attack."

Bobby frowns down at her, one hand contemplatively stroking his bearded chin as he tells her, "Saw angel boy skedaddling from here pretty quickly just a moment ago, and now you're jumpier than frog on a tin roof in a lightnin' storm. Something you want to tell me?"

Frowning in return, she shoots back, "Yeah, that you’re sneaking up on people is creepy. Especially given the circumstances that we're here hunting the friggin' Devil."

Whether or not he buys her deflection she can't quite tell, but he frowns as he slowly exhales a semi-sarcastic, "Sure."

Hoping that removing herself from his scrutiny will remove any suspicions from his mind, she stomps towards Castiel and her younger brother.

Her steps turn hesitant as she nears them, despite her decisiveness to say her own goodbyes, she suddenly realizes that she doesn't have the first clue what to say to her brother.

As she stops behind the angel, she hears Castiel admonish himself, "Oh. I was supposed to lie." In a quasi-reassuring tone, he tries assuring Sam, "Uh…sure. They'll be fine. I—"

Sam cuts him off as he shakes his head in incredulity. "Just—just stop…talking."

Castiel looks uneasily between the three Winchesters before removing himself. Sam follows the angel's movements, scoffing slightly to himself before squaring his shoulders and facing Tabitha.

"Tab…" he begins, but doesn't seem to know what to say.

"Are you absolutely certain this is what you want to do?" she questions, needing to know for certain that this is indeed his choice. Even if it breaks her heart.

"Yeah," he replies, giving her a half smile. "Yeah. I gotta do this, Tab. It's the right choice. It's my choice."

She frowns in reply, looking down briefly at her charm bracelet as a swirl of past conversations spin in her mind. Momma Cecile's voice blending together with those or Lucifer's, Azrael's, and even Castiel's voices. Azrael's voice raises above all the others, promising her the ability to spare her brothers the coming battle.

As she stares downward, Sam prompts her, "I know you and Dean have always looked out for me, but I think it's time you guys look out for yourselves. Promise me that you'll get out of this life. Promise me that whatever you do, you'll be happy. That you'll try to find someone to be happy with. Just…promise me that."

Shaking the memories of voices away, she looks up before tugging her younger brother into her arms, hugging him tightly and whispering in his ear, "No matter what happens next, I'll always have your back, little brother. Whatever is coming, I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure you can pull this off."

A look of doubt flashes in his face as she pulls away from him. "Do you really think I can do it? Am I strong enough?" he doubtfully asks.

She remembers his words to her in that abandoned house Crowley had led them to not long ago. The desperation on his face when he accused her of not having the same trust in him that she did in Dean.

Hoarsely, she insists, "I have absolute faith in you, Sammy. Dean and I have maybe gone overboard in trying to protect you all the time, but not because we didn't trust you or didn't think you could handle it. We did it because we didn't want you to _have_ to handle it, Sam. But now that the time's come, I know you'll do it." Voice breaking, she adds, "I'd stake it all on it."

Nodding fast and looking away to hide the tears gathering in his eyes, Sam gruffly tells her, "Guess the time's come then. Let's do this."

She watches as he approaches the trunk of the Impala where Dean still waits, silently observing the short conversation they have before Dean leaves their younger brother alone at the trunk.

Knowing what he'll have to do, she turns away, facing towards the building at the far end of the alley where she's sure Lucifer awaits.

"Maybe you should sit this one out," Dean tells her as he joins her.

She shakes her head once, not bothering to reply as she looks down and zips up her leather coat, nervously wiping her hands on her torn jeans.

Half-heartedly, her brother continues to argue, "With his mark on you and all…it just might be better if you stayed here."

In a flat voice, Tabitha tells him, "If Sammy wins…it won't matter. If not…"

"Nothing will matter," Dean despondently finishes when she trails off.

As they stand side by side, he looks over at her to ask, "Do you think it will work? Do you really think Sammy can do it?"

With a sad, fond sort of smile, she responds, "Of course. It might take the two of you a while, but in the end, you guys always come through."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean snorts and tells her, "And no matter the cost, in the end, you're always there doing what needs done to make sure we can."

Tilting her head to rest against his shoulder, she whispers, "Of course. What are sisters for?"

 

***********************

 

When Sam and Dean stalk across the street towards the demons guarding the building across the alley, Tabitha spares one last glance at Bobby and Castiel. A nod goodbye is all she allows herself to grant the two. Knowing that whatever is about to come, it has to be the siblings that face it together.

As she hears Sam confidently shout out, she jogs to catch up, sawed-off shotgun held tentatively out in front of her as her younger brother yells at them, "We're here, you sons of bitches! Come and get it!"

The demons file through the door, frowning at the sudden and loud appearance of the siblings.

Dean greets sardonically them with, "Hey, guys. Is your father home?"

In short order, they are disarmed, and led—or rather, shoved—up the stairs into a dilapidated apartment that even most squatters would find beneath their standards.

At the window is the figure that has haunted many of Tabitha's dreams, the same one that even thoughts of cause the mark on her chest to begin burning and itching. Now is no different. She rubs at the mark as the demons shove them towards Lucifer, who continues to stare contemplatively out the window.

His voice is almost bored as he greets, "Hey, guys," while still facing the windowpane. "So nice of you to drop in."

The Winchesters share a look when the Devil doesn't seem surprised at their appearance.

As the three watch, he blows on the glass, frost spreading across it before he draws in the white crystals the way a child would write their name in a winter-frosted window. Instead of his name, the Devil draws a simple trident while insincerely telling them, "Sorry if it's a bit chilly. Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite."

"Well, I'll alert the media," Dean assures him.

His snarky response finally pulls Lucifer's attention from the window.

As he ambles closer, he asks them, "Help me understand something, guys. I mean, stomping through my front door is…a tad suicidal, don't you think?"

Despite Dean looking unsettled by the Devil's laid-back demeanor, Sam confidently replies, "We're not here to fight you."

"No?" Lucifer questions. "Then why are you?"

"I want to say 'yes.'"

Lucifer's head tilts slightly with the first beginnings of true interest. "Excuse me?"

In response, Sam closes his eyes, and all around them, demons fall lifelessly to the floor.

Full interest peaks as Lucifer comments, "Chock-full of Ovaltine, are we?"

"You heard me. Yes."

"You're serious."

"Look, Judgment Day's a runaway train. We get it now," Sam confidently assures the Devil. "We just want off."

"Meaning?"

"Deal of the century. I give you a free ride, but when it's all over, I live, he lives, she lives, you bring our parents back—"

Lucifer cuts off his diatribe, though he thoughtfully taps his chin as he responds, "Okay, can we drop the Telenovela? I know you have the Rings, Sam."

As Tabitha and Dean share shocked looks, Sam maintains, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Annoyed, Lucifer replies, "The Horsemen's Rings? The magic keys to my cage?" Stalking closer to Sam, he presses, "Ring a bell?"

 _How?_ Tabitha mouths to Dean, who looks increasingly frightened by the turn of events.

As if hearing her, Lucifer, twists to face her, even stepping closer as he asks, "Why else do you think I really let you leave? It might have been difficult, but I did manage to siphon a few useful pieces of information from you since you 'made your escape.'" He pantomimes air quotes as he speaks, smiling almost lasciviously at her as he assures her, "You truly were worth the effort. More than paid off all the work that went into marking you."

Leaving her shocked and gasping at the realization, Lucifer steps back to Sam, telling him, "Come on, Sam. I've never lied to you. You could at least pay me the same respect."

Furious, Sam spins to face him, but Lucifer continues with, "It's okay. I'm not mad. A wrestling match inside your noggin…I like the idea. Just you and me, one round, no tricks. You win, you jump in the hole. _I_ win…well, then I win. What do you say, Sam? A fiddle against your soul says I'm better than you-ou."

When Dean and Tabitha turn imploringly towards him, Sam insists, "So he knows. Doesn't change anything."

"Sam," Dean pleads.

"We don't have any other choice."

"Are you sure?" Tabitha whispers.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam replies one last time, "Yes."

A blinding light grows as Lucifer shuts his eyes, the brightness and pain suddenly bursting in her chest bringing Tabitha to her knees. Then, it abruptly stops, and Dean squeezes her shoulder in question.

"Fine," she mumbles, pushing the hand away and pointing to where Sam lies on the floor. She scrambles to her feet, following her brother as he pulls the rings from his pocket, flinging them at the far wall.

"Tabges…"

"No," Tabitha interrupts in frustration, "You're saying it wrong. You never could remember incantations right." Concentrating, she continues, "Bvtmon…tabges…babalon."

Beneath the rings, the wall cracks and suddenly gives way. A vortex appears where the wall once stood, air rushing past into the swirling depth as Dean rushes to pull Sam to his feet.

"Dean! Tabitha!" Sam shouts, pain distorting his face as the siblings struggle to pull him upright. "I can feel him," Sam groans. "Oh, God!"

"You got to go now!" Dean demands, pulling harder to bring him to his feet.

Tabitha slides under his other arm, trying to assure him, "Come on. You can do it, Sammy."

"Come on!" Dean demands. "Go now, Sammy."

As Sam finally struggles to his feet, he takes a few staggering steps towards the vortex, pausing just short of it. And standing and staring at the vortex.

When he turns back towards them, Tabitha can instantly sense the difference, and sucks in deep, shuddering breath.

Facing them, he scoffs before giving a satisfied little grin and confessing, "I was just messing with you. Sammy's long gone."

As Dean and Tabitha watch, Lucifer turns, chanting, "Chdr, bvtmon tabges babalon."

More abruptly even than it began, the vortex stops, the gate closing as Lucifer gently pulls the rings from the wall before slipping them into his pocket.

When he faces Dean again, his face is that haunting combination of benevolent and condescending. "I told you…this would always happen in Detroit."

Stepping towards Tabitha, he lifts his hand, intending to run the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. When she jerks backwards, he lets his hand fall slowly back to his side. "You've helped me a great deal already. But you'll come to me in time. When you've said 'yes' to my sister."

"Neither of those things is gonna happen," she furiously spits at him.

"Of course they will," he assures her. "Have I been wrong yet?"

He disappears, leaving Dean and Tabitha alone and shell-shocked.

 

***********************

 

By the time Dean and Tabitha silently stumble back down to the street, signs of the Apocalypse mark every station of the evening news in the window TV displays of a nearby store.

" _Reports are flooding in_ _—_ _a 7.6 earthquake in Portland, 8.1 in Boston, more in Hong Kong, Berlin, and Tehran_."

Bobby and Castiel wordlessly join brother and sister at the storefront, watching the frantic newscast. No words are needed to ask the obvious outcome.

Although, one angel still feels the need to speak, telling them as he walks away, "It's starting."

"No shit, Sherlock," Tabitha snaps, not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

Dean shoots the angel a dark look as well, before Castiel replies, "You don't have to be mean."

"So, what do we do now?" Dean asks, refusing to give up.

Castiel pauses before replying, "I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol…just wait for the inevitable blast wave."

Annoyed, Dean responds, "Swell. Thank you, Bukowski. I-I mean, how do we stop it?"

"We don't," Castiel ominously responds, turning towards Dean once more.

Before the angel can continue, a woman appears beside Tabitha, grabbing her by the throat and hoisting her into the air with one hand as she assures Castiel, "That's right. None of _you_ can. But we _will_."

Dean surges towards the two women, crying out in shock, "Mom?" even as Bobby wisely hauls him back.

Dangling from the older blonde's iron grip and clawing at the fingers around her throat, Tabitha manages to gurgle out in explanation, "Azrael."

"Jesus. Let her go!" Dean shouts, struggling even harder against Bobby and trying to reach his sister dangling from the outstretched arm of their mother's body. Or at least, the angel currently occupying their mother.

Staring into her eyes, Azrael reminds Tabitha, "I tried so hard to do things with you the easy way. To give you every opportunity to do the right thing. It's too late for niceties now. Now…I'll beat your agreement out of you if I have to."

Knowing she's about to take Tabitha, Castiel surges forward, grabbing the other angel's elbow as Azrael disappears, taking both Castiel and Tabitha with her.

Azrael drops Tabitha from her grip, the woman falling to her hands and knees as she gulps greedy breaths of air. The Fallen angel, Azrael flicks away with barely a movement of her elbow sending him flying across the clearing into the nearby line of trees.

Choosing to ignore the other angel, Azrael circles Tabitha, stooping down to tell her, "You've really gone and done it now, haven't you? The three of you and your idiotic plans. How many times did I tell you we had to strike _before_ Lucifer wormed his way into his vessel? Hmm? Always letting things slide until the last minute, aren't we? Well, it's the last minute all right. Zero hour. So you better pull your head out of your ass and say 'yes' so we can straighten out this mess before any unnecessary damage is done."

Wheezing, Tabitha grips her throat with one hand and asks, "Any unnecessary damage like wiping out the whole damn _universe_?! You mean like that?!"

The effort to shout dissolves into a coughing fit, but Tabitha still manages to push to her knees, turning a rebellious glare on the angel in the body of her mother.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the angel scolds, actually shaking her forefinger at her. "I'm not talking about wiping out everything. I'm talking about a clean slate. Starting _over_. That's what my Father will be able to do when you and I are done wiping it all away. That's not destroying everything that ever was. It's more like…it never was in the first place. That's not so bad, is it?"

Shaking her head, Tabitha replies, "It doesn't matter anyway. Lucifer is in his vessel. And if I give you my consent now, he'll have complete control of us. Just like that vision you showed me of the future."

"Well at this point, we've got nothing to lose, do we?"

Azrael stalks closer to her, and when her fist swings at her temple, Tabitha is so surprised by the thrown punch that she doesn't move to avoid it. Unrelenting, Azrael delivers kick after kick once Tabitha falls to the ground, though Tabitha tries in vain to shield her ribs with her arms from the angel's punishing kicks.

The kicks stop suddenly when Castiel grabs the other angel, jerking her around and punching her with all his strength. Though her head snaps to the side, Azrael seems unfazed by the hit, slowly turning back towards him and flicking her hand at him until he falls to the ground, groaning and writhing in agony as she flexes her power over him.

Though she hadn't uttered a word to stop the attack on herself, Tabitha spits the blood from her lips and begs the other angel, "Stop! Just stop! Leave him out of this."

A slow smile spreads menacingly across her lips as Azrael does briefly stop, her head tipping to the side as she briefly regards the human. But instead of approaching Tabitha, Azrael appears behind Castiel, jerking his head upright by a handful of hair, an angel blade appearing in her other hand, which she holds poised unerringly over Castiel's heart as he helplessly kneels on the dry grass.

Gasping in shock, Tabitha presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream as she stares in horror at the sight.

"You've got a choice to make," Azrael tells her, lightly tapping the blade to Castiel's chest. "And I'm going to make it very easy for you. Say 'yes,' and you'll save him the pain and agony of being staked by an angel blade. And sure, I know there's the whole business of if you say 'yes,' he'll be dead anyway, but really, as I said, he won't really…exist after we're done. Isn't that better than this?" As she finishes, she presses the blade lightly into Castiel's chest, blood and light oozing around the silver blade. And though he tries to stifle the moan of pain, she can see the agony clearly on his face.

Seeing her indecision, Azrael presses the blade even further into his chest as she taunts, "You have no _idea_ how painful it is for an angel to be staked. None. It's not like being stabbed. Not really. It's infinitely worse. The pain…it's indescribable. It's not just the physical pain of our vessel being impaled. It's…the incomprehensible feeling of our Grace being fractured into a billion pieces. Even just the slightest pressure of a blade like this against our Grace…It's excruciating. And I must say, your little angel here really is quite commendable. Because believe me, he's in an excruciating amount of pain."

"Don't…listen to her," Castiel pants, sweat breaking out across his forehead at the apparent pain he tries to mask.

Closing her eyes, Tabitha desperately begs, "Stop! Just stop."

At the increased sound of Castiel's choked moans, Tabitha opens her eyes to promise, "I'll give you what you want. I promise. Please, just stop."

"She'll destroy the whole universe," Castiel despairingly warns her. "If she has her way, _both_ of your brothers will be gone."

"They'll be gone soon anyway," Azrael angrily snaps at Castiel, pushing the blade further, earning another gasp of pain from him. "Not that you'll have to worry about it soon enough. I've lost what patience I once had." Looking back up at Tabitha she insistently presses, "Are you in? Or is he _out_?"

Tabitha nods once, nearly frantic to make her stop, knowing that the blade can't go much deeper before her angel is truly gone.

Azrael looks suspicious, but doesn't stop, her hand hovering in place instead. "Your word."

"You have my word. Please…just stop," Tabitha begs, ignoring the pained and pleading looks Castiel shoots her way.

Azrael yanks the blade free, shoving at Castiel's back to push him away, seeming unconcerned as Castiel sprawls forward at her feet. "As you wish," she blithely tells Tabitha, stepping away as Tabitha rushes forward to turn Castiel over, her hand pressing over the hole in his chest.

"Tabitha, you can't," Castiel warns her through tightly clenched teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

With her other hand, Tabitha brushes the hair from his forehead, whispering, "I can't stand back and watch you die again, Cas. I've already done that once. I'm not doing it again. Not if I can help it." Squeezing his fingers one last time, she assures him, "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Pulling her hand back, she reaches into the pocket of her leather jacket, withdrawing the two items she's kept with her constantly since returning from the future months before. One is a Polaroid, now faded to bleak white. All promise of a future wiped from its surface. The other, is a ring of black gold and the darkest of Ruby stones. Once, it had felt of the warmth of hope. Now, it only feels of the coldness of reality.

She sets both on his chest, placing his hand securely over them as she tells him, "I know now why I gave this ring back to you in the future. It wasn't because I gave up like you thought I did. It was because I knew what I had to do. And I knew that it was something I had to do alone."

When he looks down at the items in confusion, she takes the opportunity to pull her hands away, standing as she does.

She spins away while Castiel pushes to his elbows, sputtering objections behind her as she steps towards Azrael.

"I'm ready. But before we do this, I have to ask one question."

"What?" Azrael demands, her tone both bored and annoyed.

"When did you stop loving your brothers?"

That catches the angel's attention. Straightening and sputtering, she assures Tabitha, "I-I _never_ stopped loving them. Everything I'm about to do, is for _them_. To _protect_ them. From one of them having to live with the horror of killing the other."

"You have no idea what it really is to love your brothers. To truly love…and _trust_ them. And be willing to sacrifice _everything_ because you believe in them and know they'll come through in the end." She shakes her head, shoving all the voices from her mind that had whispered their advice in her ear over the past year. "Sam made his choice. And now it's _my_ turn. And I'm saying 'yes.'" She nods once more for effect. "'Yes.'"

"No!" Castiel screams behind her, but too late as a blinding light fills the clearing, ending with both women falling limply on the forest floor.

As Castiel drags himself closer, Tabitha shakes her head and pushes to her feet, looking down unpityingly at the Fallen angel once she stands over him.

"I suppose it was noble of her," Azrael dryly comments as she watches Castiel's face crumple and fall in realization. "She sacrificed herself to save you from pain. A human, sacrificing herself for one of us. For an angel. So very curious a thing, isn't it? Though ultimately useless. Your pain would have only been short-lived. I suppose it doesn't really matter one way or the other now. Soon, you'll have never been."

She crouches down, running one finger down the side of Castiel's cheek, looking intrigued by the tear that spills over his eyelashes as he shies away from her touch. "So very curious," she murmurs to herself. Picking up the blank Polaroid, she glances at it before letting it flutter discarded to the ground again. "Soon, all will be as blank as this silly piece of plastic. Don't feel too bad for her, little brother, soon, she won't be any more, either. Neither will my brothers. Neither will I. Because despite what that little human thinks, I do love them. So much so, that I will stop at nothing to keep them from killing each other. Even if it means ending everything that ever was."

Azrael stands and takes a few steps away, murmuring to herself, "See, there's nothing my love for them would keep me from doing."

As she takes another step, her whole body sporadically shudders, causing her to fall to her hands and knees as she shakes and convulses. 

"Stop fighting me, Tabitha. This is the way it must be," Azrael groans, shaking her head and trying to push the human back into the far recesses of her mind.

But her eyes fall on the charm bracelet at her wrist. The charm reminding her to let her brothers sometimes stand on their own. The charm reminding her that sometimes all she needs is a little luck. The charm reminding her that every choice leads down a different path, and sometimes to a different life. And the charm reminding her of everything someone else gave up protecting _her_. But it's the last charm, the fleur-de-lis that really catches her eye. And Momma Cecile's voice reminding her to trust her heart. That she had to rely on the love not within her, but without her.

As much as she wants to live, it's the love she has outside of her heart that gives her the strength to push back Azrael. The love not for herself, but for her brothers. For Castiel. It's the love for _them_ that gives her the strength to take control.

"You don't know what it _truly_ is to love your brothers, Azrael," she snarls as she twists her body to sit upright. "You love your brothers only enough to doubt them and second-guess them. I love mine enough to know that if I give them the chance, they can do _anything_."

Tabitha pushes to her feet, unsteadily walking to Castiel until she falls to her knees beside him, groaning as she struggles to hold back Azrael.

Placing her hand on his chest, she pleads, "Promise me that you'll make sure my brothers have the time they need. You promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to help them. That you'll make sure things are set right again. They always pull through in the end. Always."

"I promise," Castiel agrees, gasping as she pulls her hand away from his suddenly healed chest.

With her other hand, she slides her angel blade from the small of her back. Tabitha raises it, turning that deadly point steadily towards her own chest.

"W-what are you doing?" Castiel haltingly asks, baffled eyes trailing from her hand on his now healed chest to the other holding the very blade he gave her for protection.

"Letting my brothers make their own choices, and doing everything I promised to back them up." She swallows thickly before she whispers, "I've always told myself that I was brave…but I was a coward for not telling you sooner that I loved you. 'Cause I've loved you for so damn long it's ridiculous."

"Tabitha," the angel whispers in anguish, reaching out towards her. "What are you doing?"

"Death said she could kill anything. Any…single…thing. So I'm doing what has to be done. Now you keep your promise and help my brothers!"

Along with her shout, she shoves at his chest, sending him hurtling through space towards Dean, even as the blinding light that fills the clearing fades from his eyes.

Arms grab Castiel from behind, keeping him from falling as he stumbles to regain his feet, whispering in pain and anguish over and over, "Tabitha."

"What?" Dean demands from behind him. "What the hell happened? Where's Tabitha, Cas? Where's my sister?" He shakes the angel as he speaks, trying to get his attention.

The angel turns to face Dean, startled to find himself back on the sidewalk beside the two equally baffled humans.

"She said 'yes,'" he tells the two waiting hunters.

Dean exhales in shock even as Bobby looks around in wonder, trying to figure out how the world is still turning if Tabitha said "yes" to the angel nuclear warhead.

"She did?" Dean whispers, dumbfounded. "Why? Where is she? What happened, damn it!?"

Castiel looks away before admitting, "She regained control, and then told Azrael that she wouldn't give up on her brothers as Azrael did with Lucifer and Michael. Then turned Azrael's powers on herself." Looking back, the angel takes a deep breath before adding, "She's gone, Dean."

Dean's face crumples before he yanks the angel closer, wrapping his arms around Castiel as the angel stands stiffly, awkwardly patting the human's back, not knowing how to offer him comfort.

Pulling away again, Dean asks, "What do we do now?"

"What your sister asked. Help Sam. Although, I don't know how we're supposed to do that now," Castiel admits.

    "Well, there's got to be something we can do," Dean barks back. He turns to look at Bobby who can only shrug.

"I don't know what we can do," Bobby admits.

Tears gathering, Dean tells them, "If Tabitha sacrificed herself for us, the least I can do is be there for Sammy at the end."

 

*****************

 

"What are you gonna do now?" Dean asks as he looks across the Impala at Castiel in the passenger seat. Though it just happened, Dean can hardly believe what took place out at the cemetery.

"Return to Heaven, I suppose," Castiel replies, eyes furrowed as he looks straight ahead.

"Heaven?" Dean questions in surprise.

"With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there."

"So, what, you're the new sheriff in town?"

For the first time, a small smile lights onto Castiel's mouth. "I like that. Yeah. I suppose I am." It will give him purpose he thinks.

"Wow," Dean mumbles. "God gives you a brand-new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you're his bitch again."

Shaking his head, Castiel argues, "I don't know _what_ God wants. I don't even know if he'll return. It just…seems like the right thing to do." He sighs before adding in a whisper, "Besides, I promised your sister."

"That you'd return to Heaven?" Dean incredulously asks.

"No," he corrects, frowning to himself. "That I'd set things right. Heaven seems like the best place to start."

"Yeah. Right," Dean grumbles noncommittally.

Shifting in the driver's seat, Dean finally turns to ask the angel, "Cas, when you were, ah, dead, did you see her?"

"Who?"

"Mother Theresa. Who the hell do you think I mean? Tabitha! Did you, you know, see Tabitha in Heaven?"

Castiel's scowl deepens. "No," he finally admits. "She's not in Heaven."

"What?!" Dean shouts, the car swerving slightly before he rights it. "She can't have ended up in Hell! I mean, self-sacrifice to help save the world and all, how could she _not_ have gotten into Heaven?"

"I don't know," Castiel admits, pausing to look down at the small wing charm along with the black and ruby ring in his palm. Dean misses the sight of them, and Castiel pockets them before Dean looks over again. "She's just…gone. As if she never existed. I suppose it was Azrael's full power she turned on herself after all."

Dean swallows several times before speaking in a halting voice. "S-she's really, just…gone. Nowhere."

"I've looked," Castiel confirms, looking away when he feels a strange sensation burning in his throat. Lingering emotion from being human he assures himself.

"Was it all worth it?" Dean suddenly demands of the angel, his tone low and graveled. "My sister…gone. Sam and Adam both stuck for an eternity in some cage with Lucifer and Michael. Was it really all worth it? Where was God in all this?!"

"You're angry," Castiel observes, turning to face Dean, as if surprised he identified the emotion. Wondering to himself if that's the unnamed sensation crawling beneath his skin. Anger…or sadness…or…loss perhaps.

"That's an understatement," Dean growls in agreement, bringing Castiel back to their conversation.

"He helped," Castiel points out as Dean scoffs. "Maybe even more than we realize."

"That's easy for _you_ to say," Dean continues to scoff. "He brought you back. But what about Sam? Or Tabitha? What about _me_ , huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole, and my sister disappeared from friggin' existence!"

"You got what you asked for, Dean. What you and Tabitha both asked for. No Paradise. No Hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?"  Castiel turns to look out the other window, recalling words Tabitha had once told him. "Because apparently with the joy of freedom comes this excruciating pain."

He disappears before Dean can reply.

 

*****************

 

_Dean and Bobby won't see each other again for a very long time. For that matter, they won't see Cas again for a long time, either._

_This time next week, Bobby will be hunting a Rugaru outside of Dayton. But not Dean._

_Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam and Tabitha back. But he isn't going to do either. Because he made a promise._

_So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this_ was _a test_ _…_ _for Sam, Dean, and Tabitha. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choices. They chose family. They chose love. And, well_ _…_ _isn't that kinda the whole point?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, that's it. The end of Angels on My Shoulders. It's finished!
> 
> Wait! It's not over over. There's more to come. Part three shall be called, Crooked He Did Fly. There's still a lot more in store for Cas and the boys. And more surprises ahead as well. :D
> 
> Sorry I've been slow to update still. But progress is still being made. I promise.
> 
> And Happy New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> We're finally into season 5. There's been a lot of angst so far (and there will be more) but I do have some fun stuff planned for this part, too.
> 
> And some mysteries to unravel. Like, what was that dream all about? And what did Nahara write about a few thousand years ago? Hmmmm…
> 
> We'll find out!
> 
> Be sure to leave some review love!


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